


All That Remains

by Kay_kat



Series: What Lies Beneath [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chloe is trying her best, Depression, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Flashbacks, Happy Ending, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Hurt/Comfort, Lotsa hurt/comfort, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tenth Doctor references, Whump, established deckerstar, everyone knows, excessive drug use, mild depictions of blood and injury, really there's angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-07-08 21:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 52,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19876495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kay_kat/pseuds/Kay_kat
Summary: Lucifer survived. When all of Hell was working against him, he clawed his way back to Chloe. Now life can continue, they can be happy again.Or can they?Maybe Hell isn't as far behind Lucifer as he believes. Maybe what lies beneath can never be unbroken.[COMPLETE]





	1. Fire and Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again!  
> So, here is the sequel that literally no one asked for, to Supernova. But hey, I was kinda self indulgent I suppose. I wanted lots of angst and hurt/comfort and so I wrote this. It is complete, ~52k words split into 8 chapters. I will be posting every Friday and Tuesday! All trigger warnings are in the tags so do please check them out if you feel like you might need to :)
> 
> Each chapter is named after a song title which I chose from my playlist for this fic (can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5l3iAgoLO3UbWkoo0NwQvD?si=d8FsGZlrRq2N8ZDJz_N9_A)) and I'll also put some of the lyrics from each song in the each of the chapter notes. 
> 
> Big thank you to [NotOneLine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotOneLine/pseuds/NotOneLine) and [Shazzam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shazzam/pseuds/Shazzam) for their much needed betaing and for just generally being awesome! <3  
> Oh and just a disclaimer, I’m not particularly an expert in the field of psychology. Working on research and advice from my friend who is a psychologist so, any I apologise for any inaccuracies.  
> And that's all I've got to say for now! Hope you enjoy! <3
> 
>  _“Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain._  
>  I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.  
> I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,  
> but I always thought that I'd see you again.” - Fire and Rain by James Taylor

They lay in bed. Their clothes decorate the room. His shirt hanging haphazardly from the top of the wardrobe, her bra dangling from the lampshade. One of his legs sticks out from beneath the covers. His forehead rests against her thigh, his arm draped over her legs. She pulls her fingers through his thoroughly mused hair as she looks down at him, studying his sharp, handsome features. His eyes are closed, but he’s not asleep. He presses sleepy, soft kisses to her tender skin.

She can’t wipe the smile off her face, and it seems neither can he as she feels his lips curl against her. On a whim she clenches her fingers, gently tugging a fistful of his dark curls. He lets out a surprised little noise and then laughs as he cracks an eye open to look up at her, one eyebrow raised and a smirk dancing across his lips.

“Playing rough, are we? Why didn’t you say so earlier?” he says suggestively, running his tongue over his perfect, pearly teeth. A laugh bubbles up inside of her as, without warning he rolls and pounces on her, pinning her beneath him.

She laughs, full and genuine, like she always does when she’s with him. He leans down, his mouth meeting the tender skin of her neck and nipping gently before pressing kisses to it. She throws her arms around him, her hands running up and down the smooth muscles of his back. His kisses trail along her breastbone leaving fire in their wake, her skin tingling beneath his loving touch.

Her fingers tease the short hairs at his nape and tangle into his dark curls as she pulls him closer to her. He shifts his weight to the side, landing next to her and rests his head on her shoulder, his slender fingers tracing idle patterns over her stomach.

She cards her fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp with her fingernails and presses a kiss to the top of his head. His ring glistens in the low light from the bedside lamp. She takes his hand in hers and rests the other on the side of his face. A content sigh escapes her. This is good. She’s happy.

Everything that had happened, losing him, it had been… _stressful_ to say the least. They’d moved past it though. It made them stronger. What a cliché that is, but it’s true. She knows the truth now, knows what he’s been through. She knows that she can never fully understand the extent of the trauma that has plagued him his whole life, but knowing is a start.

Their entwined fingers rest on her stomach. Their rings sit next to each other. A pair. Partners just like them.

After a couple of weeks of rest and just enjoying each other’s company they’d both returned to work. To her surprise that’d turned out better than she’d hoped. Telling the blunt truth as Lucifer said he would surprisingly didn’t raise too many questions. The Lieutenant had simply shrugged when Lucifer had explained he’d come back from Hell so she wouldn’t be requiring a new partner. The officers that had actually been on scene that day had asked the most questions but had mostly only succeeded to start rumours amongst those that weren’t there. Lucifer seemed quite amused at the rumour that it’d actually been his twin brother that had died and not him.

Ella had just been happy to see him and to his dismay, had enveloped him in a hug.

Things are back to normal. Well… _their_ normal (which she supposes isn’t normal at all). And life is good.

Her stomach grumbles, shaking her from her daydream. Lucifer tilts his head to look at her.

“Hungry, Love?”

She hums, nodding. They’d practically fallen through the door (again) after a particularly taxing day and had skipped straight to dessert, so to speak. Now the sun has long set, and her stomach demands sustenance.

He sits up, stretches and bats those ridiculous lashes at her. He smiles, flashing rows of pearly whites and purrs, “What do you desire?”

She laughs and playfully pushes at his shoulder.

“Anything you want, My Love.”

Her stomach growls again at the possibilities. Only now is she realising how hungry she actually is. Lucifer must be starving. As he’d said once he is far larger and far hungrier. For someone so skinny he sure does eat a lot. Like, _a lot._ He’s lucky he has his ‘celestial metabolism’ as he calls it or, maybe it’s because of that that he’s hungrier. “What do you want?” she asks in return.

It had occurred to her when he’d been telling her about his life that for all that he has and all that he gives, fulfilling other’s desires, no one had taken the time to ask what it is he wants. Thinking back over their relationship she’d realised she’d done the same. Whenever she’d asked, he’d always managed to flip the conversation back to what she wanted, and she’d let him. But not anymore. No, she is going to teach him that what he wants matters too. No matter how long it takes her.

Her eye catches the ring on her finger.

She has the rest of their lives to convince him that he matters, and she intends to use it. She can’t possibly erase a lifetime— multiple lifetimes she supposes— of him believing he doesn’t deserve to be loved, to be cared for but she can damn well try.

“I asked you first,” he replies easily.

“Lucifer, we’ve talked about this,” she sighs, brushing her fingers over his stubbled cheek. “We don’t have to have what I want all the time.”

He briefly closes his eyes, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “I’m just… I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, okay,” she replies, frowning when he stifles a yawn, covering his mouth with his fist. She doesn’t recall if she’s ever seen him yawn before. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes.” When she raises an eyebrow at him, he adds, “It’s nothing. I’m just… tired, I think is all.”

She sighs, gently caressing his cheek and pulling her hand through his hair again. He leans into the touch craning his neck slightly to get closer to her. His eyes briefly flutter closed. “You should’ve said something.” She pauses, her eyes flitting over him and then smiles a little cheeky thing. “Didn’t realise I could wear you out so easily,” she laughs.

His face creases. “You didn’t wear me out, I assure you, I have tremendous stamina as I’ve demonstrated many times before.”

“Hm… maybe you’re just getting old.”

The affronted look that crosses his face has her in stitches. “I am not _‘getting old’!”_ Between her bouts of laughter she manages to shoot him a disbelieving look. “I’m older than the average human yes, but not _old_ old. I’d estimate I’m the equivalent—”

“Relax,” she says, her laughter subsiding, placing a hand on his arm. As adorable as he looks when he’s flustered, she thinks it’s best to stop him before he gets upset. “I was just teasing you. Why don’t you get some sleep, I can make myself dinner if you don’t want anything?”

“No, I’ll—”

“Lucifer,” she interrupts his protest, taking his face in both her hands. “You don’t have to always give me what _I_ want. It’s okay to want things for yourself. I know you feel like you don’t deserve it but,” she presses one hand to the space above his heart, “you really do. You’re a _good_ man, Lucifer Morningstar.” A small, unsure smile pulls at his lips. He closes his eyes as she brings her hand back to hold his face. “And I know you don’t believe me but I’m going to keep telling you until you do. No matter how long it takes.”

She presses a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering there for a long moment, desperately trying to impart how important he is to her.

When she pulls back his dark eyes are fixed on her, glistening in the light, his lips slightly parted. He looks at her with such adoration, such appreciation clouded by disbelief. The simple gesture means so much to him, she can see it in his eyes. It makes her heart ache realising that he’s never been given this kind of care before.

“Sleep,” she says, brushing her fingers against his neatly trimmed stubble. He nods, a small, appreciative smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She presses a kiss to his temple, pulling the covers up as he lays down. “I’ll join you soon.”

~

He lays there, awake despite the sudden tiredness that plagues him. The sound of cars passing in the street has long ceased. The space beside him still empty. He tosses and turns for what feels like an eternity before sitting up with a huff and scrubbing a hand over his face. He sits there for a long moment trying to pinpoint what’s wrong with him, but he comes up short.

He feels more tired than he has done in a long time. An annoying ache lingers behind his eyes and he absently rubs his temples trying to rid himself of it.

With a sigh he throws the covers back and swings his legs over the side of the bed. The red light of the alarm clock blares, cutting through the darkness that engulfs the room. 11:48 the numbers read. Not particularly late for him but he wonders where Chloe has gotten to. He clicks the light on, retrieves his silver cigarette case and lighter from the nightstand and rises to head downstairs.

He finds Chloe sat at the dining table, an empty bowl sat next to her and piles of paperwork scattered in front of her. Her eyes narrow as she studies the open file in front of her, absentmindedly chewing the end of her pen.

Her hair is pulled back into a messy bun. She’s wearing nothing but the oversized plaid shirt come nightgown that she loves so much, her bare legs pulled up beneath her.

She looks gorgeous.

Somehow, she always manages to take his breath away.

She looks up at him and a few strands of golden hair slip free, framing her beautiful face. “Hey,” she says smiling softly at him, “what’re you doing up? I thought you were going to sleep.”

“Can’t sleep.” He holds up his cigarette case and gestures towards the back door.

“That’s not like you,” she says, untucking her legs from beneath her as she stands and meets him halfway to the door, pressing a hand against his bare chest. Her face creases in concern. “Are you feeling okay?”

He pauses, frowning a little before replying, “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

At first, she says nothing. He can sense her scepticism. “Alright,” she says, after a long studious look at him. “I’m going to bed.” She leans up and presses a soft kiss to his lips, pulling away before he has the chance to respond. “Don’t be too long.”

He nods wordlessly as he watches her walk away and retreat up the stairs, absently rubbing his chest. Something feels… _off._ He just can’t quite put his finger on what it is.

Shaking his head, he brushes the thought away and steps out the back door, opening his cigarette case and plucking one free.

He tries to ignore the way his hand trembles as he sticks the thing between his lips.

It’s nothing, he tells himself. He’s tired. That’s all it is.

Nothing more.

~

“You look tired,” Chloe remarks, looking up from the magazine she’s flipping through as he hands her the steaming mug of freshly made coffee.

He hums, edging around the counter and tilting his head to look at what she’s reading. A bridal magazine. Elegant white dresses adorn the pages. His mind doesn’t even register the beautiful brunette model, all he sees is his Chloe. The image of her wearing one of those flowing gowns and walking down the aisle towards him flashes through his mind. Oh, how gorgeous she’d look. She’d look just as gorgeous in whatever she wore, mind. But the idea of her soon being his and him being hers is just… _incomprehensible. Unfathomable._ How had he gotten so lucky to have such a perfect, caring soul love him and accept him? It’s… extraordinary.

He doesn’t deserve any of it.

He doesn’t deserve _her._

“Earth to Lucifer,” she says, eyebrows raised as she snaps her fingers in front of his face.

He reluctantly shakes his thoughts, coming back to reality. “Hm, sorry Love. I was miles away.”

“I can tell.” Her face creases, concern saturating her features. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

The question irritates him. He’s not sure why. Chloe is only trying to care for him. The grip on his own cup tightens until his knuckles are white from the pressure regardless. He bites back the urge to snap that bubbles up insides him, instead pressing his lips together and pointing out a particular dress in the magazine, telling himself again that it’s nothing. He’s tired. Nothing more. “This style is very in. You’d look absolutely stunning—”

“ _Lucifer.”_ She covers his hand with hers and pulls it towards her effectively taking his attention away from the magazine. “What is going on with you? Please. If something’s wrong, you know you can tell me.”

He yanks his hand away so fast that anyone would’ve thought she’d burnt him. “ _STOP._ Just. _Stop.”_ He snarls the words, feeling fire blaze in his eyes. “ _Stop_ asking me that. I’M _FINE,”_ he roars, suddenly seeing red.

It fades as quickly as it came leaving him confused at his own outburst. He has no idea where it came from.

Chloe stares back at him, horrified. She’s stepped back from him, leaving a space between them. Her hand grips the granite countertop.

She looks _terrified._

Of him.

He did that.

Guilt washes over him. “Chloe,” he says, reaching out a hand to her. His heart races, pounding hard against his sternum. “Love. I don’t— I didn’t mean to… I’m sor—” Chloe is backing away and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. His throat feels like it’s constricting.

The world seems to fade around him. He shakily braces his hands against the counter to stop himself from collapsing.

“If you needed space all you had to do was ask, _Lucifer_ ,” she spits his name and it makes him feel so small. “You don’t _get_ to talk to me like that.” She snatches her bag and her keys, turning to him with a face like thunder. “I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m going to work,” she says shaking her head, her mouth downturned into a nasty curve. “I don’t want to see you until you’ve calmed down and are ready to apologise.”

She throws him one last look before heading out the door

He steps towards her, desperate to make amends and makes to call her name but the word dies on his lips as the door slams in his face leaving him alone, wondering what had just happened.

He’s tired and he made a mistake. Nothing more than that.

Or so he keeps telling himself.

~

She sits in her car, head in her hands trying to control her breathing. Her heart is racing. She and Lucifer fight sometimes like all couples do, but that… that was something else. He’d never directed that sort of anger at her before. Never raised his voice like that. And it had come from nowhere.

She knows he would never hurt her but that had scared her, nonetheless.

He’d been acting off since last night and it really isn’t like him to lose control like that. Not towards her. _Never_ towards her.

Maybe he’s just in a bad mood but he hadn’t seemed like himself. He’d seemed confused by his own behaviour…. Whatever it is, she knows if he won’t talk to her, he will talk to Linda. Or Linda will make him talk.

He’s probably fine. It’s just a stupid fight.

Nothing more.

Or so she tells herself.

~

“You seem tense today,” Linda says, peering at him over the rim of her glasses from where she sits in her chair across from him. A notebook sits in her lap, but she hasn’t written anything down yet. Probably because he hasn’t said anything.

What is there to say?

That he’d royally screwed up with Chloe? That whatever chance he’d had with her before was probably out the window. That she’s probably going to tell him to get lost the next time he sees her?

He hums, uncrosses his legs and leans over to pour himself a glass of water. He isn’t thirsty but it’s something to occupy himself with. “Very astute as always, Doctor.”

She writes something down in her notepad. “Did something happen?”

“The Detective and I…” he begins, eyeing her as she makes another note, “we fought.”

“What did you fight about?”

His grip on the glass tightens. “It doesn’t matter.”

Linda tilts her head slightly, places her pen down and folds her hands in her lap. “Why do you think that?”

“Because I’ve screwed it up, _haven’t I?”_ he raises his voice. Linda doesn’t flinch. “She isn’t going to forgive me.” He takes a breath and adds more quietly, failing to keep the tremor out of his voice, “She probably doesn’t want to see me again.”

“Couples fight, Lucifer. It _doesn’t_ mean it’s over. Chloe loves you. You’re engaged. She isn’t going to throw that away over one fight. _Talk_ to her.”

His lips downturn into a nasty glower filled with self-loathing. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He squeezes his eyes closed, taking a breath, trying desperately to calm his rising anger. He grits his teeth and doesn’t offer her a reply. What’s the _bloody_ point? Nothing that he can say changes what he did.

“Relationships require _communication_ , Lucifer. In the heat of the moment people say things that they don’t _mean_. The only way to work through it is to _talk_.”

He clenches his teeth until his jaw aches. “I _can’t_ ,” he grinds out.

“You can. Chloe will give you a chance. I _know_ she will.”

“ _SHE WON’T,”_ he roars. The glass shatters in his hand, the water spills over his fingers and on to the carpet. Linda flinches this time. “ _She’s terrified of me_. I _scare_ her. _I did that_.” He stands causing shards of glass to fall to the floor. He looks back over his shoulder one last time. “ _No one_ can love _the Devil_.”

He walks out the door, slamming it hard behind him.

~

She doesn’t hear from him all day. He doesn’t show up at the precinct like she hopes he will. He isn’t home when she gets back from picking Trixie up from school. His phone goes straight to voicemail when she attempts to call him.

It should be expected, she supposes. He’s never dealt well when they’ve argued in the past, but this feels different. She’d been replaying the argument over and over in her head all day. He just _exploded._ It wasn’t like him. And it really isn’t like him to make himself unreachable.

Well… he’s not _unreachable_. He’d told her that if she ever needs him all she has to do is pray.

He’d told her in case of emergencies though and she has the feeling that using it when she doesn’t have to might upset him more than he likely already is.

Trixie obviously senses her unease as she sits on the couch, turning her phone over in her hands and clicking the screen on every two seconds just in case he messages her.

“Are you okay, Mommy?” she asks, looking up at her with those big brown eyes that remind her so much of him. People always mistake Lucifer to be Trixie’s father wherever they go. The first few times his outrage had been amusing. She distinctly remembers him telling one woman how he would never be so irresponsible as to bring a ‘ _grubby little Spawn’_ into the world.

As time went on though his reaction had slowly changed. Somewhere along the line the outrage had faded into fondness and if someone tells him now what a beautiful daughter he has, she would say he almost looks proud.

She sighs and runs her hand through the girl’s hair. “I’m worried about Lucifer.”

Her eyes widen a fraction. “Did you guys fight?”

“Yeah,” she nods, trying to ignore the sting that prickles the back of her eyes. “He was upset, and I don’t know why. I want to help him, Monkey, I really do but I can’t if he doesn’t talk to me. I don’t know where he is and I’m… I’m just _worried_ about him.”

“Don’t worry, Mommy,” she says with a firm nod. “He’ll be back soon. We’re his family now. He loves us and we love him. He needs us.”

She hums and finds it in her to smile at her daughter’s (well founded) faith in him and pulls her into a hug. “I think you’re right.”

She _hopes_ she’s right.

After that Trixie goes to bed without fuss leaving her to fret once again.

Flicking through her phone contacts, she considers calling Linda. She must’ve heard from him today. They had an appointment and if Lucifer hadn’t have shown up, she definitely would have called him or failing that, even gone to find him.

She decides to call Linda and despite the late hour her friend picks up after only two rings.

_“Chloe. Hi! What can I do for you?”_

“Hi, Linda. Did Lucifer show up for his appointment today? I-I just— He hasn’t come home. He’s not answering his phone.” After a pause she adds, “I’m worried about him, Linda.”

_“I did see him today. You know I can’t tell you what happened, but he left early, and he was extremely upset.”_

She swallows the bile that rises in her throat as Linda’s tone grows more concerned. “Did he say where he was going?”

_“No. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, Chloe. I know this must be upsetting for you. Is there anything you need?”_

“No. Thank you though, Linda. I know how to find him. I’ll let you know when I do.”

She ends the call, setting her phone down on the coffee table. Taking a breath, she presses her palms together and prays.

_“Lucifer. I don’t know if you can even hear this, but please come home. I’m worried about you and I’m sorry we fought. Please let’s talk about this. I love you.”_

Barely a minute later a gust of wind sweeps through the room and there’s a loud crash. She jumps up off the sofa and rushes to the tangle of long limbs and white wings that’s suddenly appeared on the floor in the middle of the room.

“Lucifer!” She drops to her knees beside him and helps him sit up. His wings flop uselessly on the floor behind him as he does.

He sways and looks at her with bleary eyes, his brows knitting in confusion as though he has no idea where he is or how he got here. “Chloooee,” he slurs.

She frowns as she leans forward and catches the strong scent of alcohol on him. “ _Are you drunk?!”_

“’Sss your fault….” He hiccups, and she reflects upon just how ridiculous he looks. His hair is an unruly mess. His shirt is half unbuttoned and for some reason he’s only wearing one shoe.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, and how’d you figure that?”

He blinks sluggishly and tries to push himself to his feet but instead falls back on his ass. He looks around the room in shock. “Waasn’t druuuunk a sssecond aaago….” He hiccups again and his eyes widen in surprise. “Ssoo tha’s a thing….”

“What?”

He waves his hands in the air like that’s somehow going to make his point clearer. “The _thing-y.”_

She shakes her head not understanding and he grumbles.

“Mortaaality thing….”

_Oh._ The alcohol must’ve been in his system and now it’s affecting him because he’s in her proximity. That’s good to know. And it serves him right for being such an idiot.

Suddenly he stands, shaking precariously on his feet and knocking various ornaments over with his almost fully outstretched wings. She rushes to stand next to him and tries her best to stop his wobbling.

“Lucifer?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can you put your wings away? You’re wrecking the house.”

He turns suddenly, almost losing his balance as if to try and look at his wings but only succeeds in knocking a lamp over. It falls to the floor with a loud crash and shatters, startling him into stepping backwards and narrowly avoids falling on his ass again, teetering dangerously on the spot. “Oh….”

He rolls his shoulders as she’s seen him do a few times before to make his wings appear or disappear only, they don’t disappear. He shoots her a lopsided smile that makes him look ridiculously adorable.

“Lucifer.” She frowns at him. “Nothing happened.”

He looks over his shoulder and lets out an over exaggerated huff. “ _Bloody ‘ell….”_ He shrugs his shoulders again, but they remain.

She shakes her head in disbelief as he looks at her helplessly. “You can’t do it, can you?”

He shakes his head looking very much like a lost puppy.

“Come here,” she sighs, grabbing him under the arm and pulling him towards the couch. She cringes as a picture and various knick-knacks get knocked over on the way.

After much swaying, she manages to get him to flop down onto the couch, his wings spill out over the back and the coffee table. He shuffles onto his side to look at her, his dark eyes fixed on her face. “Yoooou,” he drawls, waving his hand at her and attempting to sit up again. “Yooou’re pretty.”

She just sighs and fluffs a pillow before pushing him back down. He lands face down with a little muffled, “oomf,” before turning to look at her again. Only now his face is filled with sorrow. “’Mm sooorry….” His soulful eyes glisten making her heart squeeze painfully.

“ _Lucifer…”_ she sighs, brushing a curl away from his forehead and pulling her fingers through his hair. She really does want to forgive him. “I know you are. We still need to talk about it though.”

“D’ we _have_ to?”

She hums an affirmative, running her fingers through his hair once more and leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. She removes his one shoe and pulls the throw from the back of the couch to cover him the best she can, watching as he sinks into his pillow face down. “And please don’t suffocate in your sleep,” she adds, only half-jokingly.

“’Kay…” he murmurs before his eyes flutter closed and stay like that. 

~

_The smell of brimstone fills his nostrils. The heat is stifling. Closing in around him. Breathing is a chore with the persistent ache in his chest and the ash that finds its way into his mouth. Screams echo through the air._

_He can’t move._

_Metal digs into his wrists when he tries. Slicing his skin. Blood drips down his arms._

_Everything hurts._

_He knows it’s only going to get worse._

_There is no escape from this place._

~

“Lucifer.” A tiny hand shakes him, rousing him from his restless slumber. “Lucifer wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

He wakes with a gasp. It takes a moment to register where he is. The dream had felt so real he swears he can still smell the all too familiar scent of Hell. He jolts upright, or at least tries to.

For some reason he can’t quite fathom, he’s on the sofa, his wings are out and spread across the living room and the Urchin is stood staring down at him.

He blinks groggily, scrubbing a hand over his face and props himself up on one elbow to look at her. The room around them is still dark. He doesn’t understand what’s happening or how he got here. One minute he’d been trying to drink himself into a stupor (and failing miserably) and the next he’s here. The room is dark so it must be late. He’s still fully clothed save for his shoes which have been removed. His head pounds, painful to a degree that it makes him feel sick. He feels hot, uncomfortably so. The pillow he’d been using is damp with his sweat.

“Are you okay?” the Spawn asks, her wide eyes shining at him even in the darkness. She clutches one of those ridiculous plush toys she insists on having under one arm. “You were having a bad dream.”

“I…. How did I get here?” he asks, squeezing his eyes shut briefly in an attempt to stave off the sharp pain that resides behind his eyes.

The girl frowns. “I think you flew.” She gives a pointed look at his wings.

“Right….” He flops back down and groans when his skin makes contact with the wet pillow. Opening one eye, he sees that the Spawn is still watching him. “What is it?” he mumbles.

She holds the toy out to him. “Do you want Miss Alien? She always makes me feel better when I have a bad dream.”

He wants to laugh. How naïve the child must be to think that a stuffed toy can make him feel better, but for some reason the gesture makes him feel… _warm?_ It’s odd. “No. Thank you.”

Her hand drops back to her side, but she still stands there staring at him.

“Was there something else?” he asks, trying his best not to be short with her despite how he feels.

She shifts nervously on the spot and chews on her bottom lip, looking very much like her mother.

“Well, out with it then. I haven’t got all night.”

“Can I cuddle with you? Pretty pleeeaase? Just for a little while?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Why the bloody Hell would I want to do that?”

Even in the dark he can see how her lip quivers and her eyes become all the more shiny with tears. Guilt washes over him. Maybe he’s becoming soft….

“Fine,” he concedes, shuffling to make room for her next to him.

She squeals and immediately wraps her arms around his waist, burying her head in his chest. Within minutes she’s asleep. He doesn’t have the heart to disturb her, so he lets her stay and eventually he drifts off into a peaceful slumber himself.

~

When Chloe comes down the steps in the morning, the sight she sees before her melts her heart.

Lucifer is where she’d left him, sprawled out on the couch and Trixie is cuddled into his chest. Both are soundly asleep. One wing is sprawled out on the floor and the other is wrapped around the pair.

It’s adorable.

She stands on the bottom step for a good long while just watching her daughter snuggle into his chest. She can’t help the fond smile that creeps across her lips although she worries about how exactly they’d ended up like that, knowing that Lucifer was _very_ drunk when she’d left him last night.

The sweet scene doesn’t last long though as Trixie soon stirs, waking the slumbering angel as she does. The girl giggles as she extricates herself from his feathery grasp and greets her mother.

“Hey, Monkey, did you sleep here all night?”

The girl shrugs. “I heard Lucifer having a bad dream, so I came to make sure he was alright. He looked like he needed cuddles, so I gave them to him, like you do for me when I have a bad dream Mommy.”

Her face softens as she regards her daughter and can’t help but feel guilty for leaving him down here on his own. He’d had nightmares frequently when they’d first gotten together. They’d improved somewhat since she figured out that having her there with him seemed to settle him and after a while they seemed to become less and less. “Why don’t you go get ready for school, Monkey, me and Lucifer need to talk.”

Trixie nods and retreats to her room, leaving them alone.

He groans and squeezes his eyes shut, shoving his face into the pillow. Deciding to have mercy on him she first goes to the kitchen and makes them both a cup of coffee. She’s sure he needs it after last night.

“Morning,” she says, placing his favourite mug filled with freshly brewed coffee down on the table next to him. Trixie had gotten the mug for him shortly after they’d told her that they were engaged. The words “World’s Greatest Step-Devil” adorn the front with a little devil emoji next to it.

He grunts and holds his head, mumbling something unintelligible into the pillow.

“What was that?”

One dark eye stares up at her as he shifts slightly. “I said,” he pauses, taking an exaggerated breath and then murmurs, “not so loud please.”

She sets herself down, perching on the edge of the couch next to him and can’t help but smile. “Kinda serves you right for drinking so much.”

He grumbles, pulling his wing closer to him.

“Lucifer,” she sighs, running her fingers through his unruly hair. “We need to talk.”

Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he rolls his shoulder causing his wings to disappear to wherever they go. He hunches over and grabs the coffee she’d set down and holds it in both hands. Resting his elbows on his knees, he stares down at the carpet like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. “Might as well get it over with,” he mumbles, sounding all but defeated.

She shuffles a little closer, closing the space that he’s left between them and he looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

“‘We need to talk’ doesn’t mean I’m breaking up with you Lucifer.” She knows how his mind works by now, knows how to read the signs that say he’s teetering on the edge of a precipice about to fall. She reaches out and takes one of his hands in hers, prising it gently from around the cup. “You want to tell me what’s going on with you?”

He says nothing, exhaling sharply before shaking his head ever so slightly.

“Are you having nightmares again? Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?”

“I don’t know,” he says quietly, closing his eyes.

She squeezes his hand. She knows it’s difficult for him to talk about how he’s feeling, but they can’t just ignore what happened yesterday and there’s clearly something going on with him. “Look, Lucifer, you know you can talk to me about anything. I can see something is going on with you. I just want to help, okay? I’m not mad at you, I promise.”

He turns to look up at her, his eyes wide. “I don’t know,” he says quietly again. “I don’t know why I got angry yesterday… I just… I don’t know…” he trails off, hanging his head between his hands. “I’m sorry….” He rubs a hand over his face.

“Do you… want to talk about the nightmare you had last night?” she asks, knowing that the answer will probably be no, but she always offers anyway.

He silently shakes his head, as expected.

“How was your session with Linda yesterday?”

“It was…” he swallows and shakes his head, “bad. I should call her and apologise.”

He makes to stand up, presumably to get his phone but she stops him by pulling gently on his hand. “She’s fine, I called her last night before I called you. She’s just worried about you. So am I.”

Slumping back down, he scrubs his hand over his face again. “I’m fine. I’m just… tired. That’s all.”

She touches his back, lightly rubbing soothing patterns. “Okay. Why don’t you stay at home today? Get some sleep.”

“Okay.” He nods meekly.

Rising to her feet she leans over him and lifts his chin in her fingers. She presses a kiss to his forehead, just above the jagged scar that crosses his face. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies, smiling weakly up at her. She can see the tiredness in his features. The dark circles beneath his eyes, the unfamiliar lines in his face.

He’s just tired, she tells herself. He’ll be fine once he’s had some sleep.

She hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the amazing SeedsOfLily who did an absolutely gorgeous piece of fanart inspired by a scene in this chapter! You can find it on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/seedsoflily/status/1215724044743532547?s=21) and [Tumblr](https://seedsoflily.tumblr.com/post/190185871701/a3-size-traditional-artwork-inspired-by-this)! Show her some love! <3


	2. Climbing to the Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“And it's getting hard to tell where_  
>  What I am ends  
> And what they're making me begins.” 
> 
> \- Climbing to the Moon by Eels

He stops smiling.

It’s subtle at first.

His smiles wavering when he thinks she’s not looking.

A false smile plastered over the sadness that clearly resides deep within his eyes.

Slowly but surely though, he stops trying to hide.

The smiles fade away just as he seems to.

He doesn’t sleep. She often wakes to find the space beside her empty. The dark circles beneath his eyes grow; the lines in his face multiply.

She asks him what’s wrong again and again, desperate to know what she can do to help him, but the answer is always the same.

_“It’s nothing for you to worry about.”_

But she does worry. More than she’s sure he can ever understand.

As time passes, he becomes increasingly aloof. Not just towards her. Towards everyone. He seems… _absent_. The joie de vivre that makes him _him_ just seems to disappear leaving him a hollow shell of his former self.

She wakes one morning to find him sat at the breakfast bar, staring down into a cup of coffee that he nurses in both hands. As she approaches him, she can’t help but notice that the drink isn’t steaming. He’s probably been sat there a while.

He sits deathly still, making no indication that he’s heard her movements. She reaches out and lightly touches his shoulder.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

Like a startled cat he very nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact. It hadn’t been sudden by any means and he isn’t one to be startled easily.

Or at all for that matter.

He gasps, narrowly avoiding spilling his drink and turns to her with wild eyes that flash red for the briefest of moments before returning to their usual deep brown. “Bloody Hell, woman,” he says between ragged breaths, “don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I—” _didn’t,_ she wants to say, but the word dies on her lips. He looks… _agitated._ She can see it in the way the muscles in his jaw flicker as he clenches his teeth and the way his knuckles turn white as he balls his hands into fists. His focus flits from her to the floor and back again, like he doesn’t know where to look. “Sorry.”

He’s quiet after that, turning back to staring at his coffee, away from her. It hurts. It really does. The man she loves can’t even say good morning to her. She can’t touch him for even a second without him pulling away, isolating himself.

She pours herself a bowl of cereal and asks him if he wants anything, but he just shakes his head in response.

Setting herself down beside him at the breakfast bar she eats in tense silence. The crunch of the cereal seems piercingly loud in the heavy quiet of the apartment. He still sits, staring, speechless.

He might as well be a million miles away.

It already feels like he is.

Finally, she drops her spoon, the sound of the metal clanging against the ceramic makes him jump a little again. She sighs and turns to him. They can’t ignore the elephant in the room any longer, one of them needs to address it and it obviously isn’t going to be him.

“Lucifer,” she begins softly before pausing, deciding exactly what she wants to say to him. Choosing her words carefully is a must, his anger seems to simmer just below the surface these days. A single wrong word can set him off.

He doesn’t scare her though. She knows he would never hurt her. But it hurts her to see him like this, the anger a mask covering something deeper. She can see that. She just doesn’t know what lies at the bottom of that particular abyss.

“Lucifer, I need you to know that I’m here for you.” He swallows, looking at her in the periphery of his vision. Almost as if he’s afraid to look directly at her. “Whatever you’re going through, you can talk to me about it. I _want_ to help you, but I can’t if I _don’t know._ ”

Her plea is met with more silence.

Her last shred of hope is all but disintegrated, dissolved, lost for good when he turns to look at her properly. His dark eyes that usually twinkle, now dull, meet hers.

“Chloe,” he says the word, barely a whisper. “I don’t know what to say.”

It’s a change from him telling her not to worry, a step in the right direction maybe. It still doesn’t help her though. “Okay,” she replies slowly, nodding. His gaze remains fixed on her, his eyes seem to beg her for help. The sadness in his face breaks her already aching heart.

She offers a hand to him. He stares at it for a good long moment before taking it. Her skin tingles with the contact as she stands and leads him over to the couch. He follows behind without question, looking like a lost puppy.

When she sits down, he remains standing until she pats the space on the cushion next to her and he takes it, shuffling a little. He stares down at his hands in his lap, twisting his ring on his finger until she takes both his hands in hers, stopping him. His gaze follows them, remaining fixed on their hands.

“I miss you, Lucifer.”

His brows knit. It’s probably the most emotion he’s shown all week. “But I…” he looks up at her, “I’m right here.”

She pulls her thumb over the back of his hand, tracing along his knuckles in what she hopes is a soothing motion. “You’ve been different recently. You seem… _sad.”_

“I-I don’t….” He swallows thickly and takes a shaky breath. His voice sounds strained. “I don’t know what I feel.”

He’s lost and she can hear it in his voice. See it in the way he looks at her.

“Lucif—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to talk to me,” she says, bringing her hand up to hold his cheek. He squeezes his eyes closed and exhales raggedly. “But, please, talk to someone. You’re seeing Linda today, aren’t you?”

His eyes snap open and in a jerky motion he pulls away from her. “No.”

She frowns. “Why not? You usually see her on a Tuesday, I can come with you if—”

“I cancelled.” He rises from the couch and she can practically see his defences falling into place. His posture grows tense, standoffish.

“Why?”

He sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose, a flash of irritation dancing across his face. “I have nothing to say.” He paces a few steps before turning to her and adding, “I just… I just want to go to work.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Their conversation has left her none the wiser. She’s concerned that he’s not seeing Linda. Perhaps a call to her is in order, maybe she can convince him to go and talk to her. That is if he even hears her out.

For now though she can only offer to listen, to be there for him and hope, against all odds, that he chooses to open up to her.

Maybe work will be good for him. Take his mind off whatever is clearly haunting him.

~

Coming to work was a bad idea.

Lucifer stares into the cold, dead eyes of the man dangling by his shackled wrists from a meat hook. He’s beaten, bruised and bloodied.

Only when Lucifer looks at the pale, hollow face he doesn’t see a corpse.

He sees himself.

Feels the cold metal digging into his own skin. The ache in his arms, the strain on his shoulders like they’re being pulled to the point of almost dislocating.

The scars across his face and side sting like fresh wounds.

The world around him fades to nothing but pain and suffering and he’s trapped there again.

He can smell the acrid odour of burning brimstone. Feel the heat surrounding him, stifling, drying his mouth and stealing the air from his lungs. Ash fills his mouth, suffocating him.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t escape.

~

“Poor dude was tortured. _Like_ brutally,” Ella explains, casting a sad look at the victim and shaking her head. “My guess is it was a pretty amateurish job. I mean,” she pauses, shrugging, “they wouldn’t have killed him otherwise.”

Chloe hums, nodding slowly. “What was cause of death?”

“Difficult to say for sure,” she gestures to the significant purple bruising that covers the man’s torso. His skin is more bruised than not. “Best guess is huge internal haemorrhaging. Whoever did this probably got a little too carried away with the beatings. I won’t be able to say for certain until we get the coroner's report though.”

Amateur or not, they still don’t have a lot to go on. The dark, dank depths of what once looked to have been an abattoir weren’t secure. Anyone could’ve gained access to it. The array of crude torture tools lay bloodied on a silver table. The kind you’d find in a morgue. None of the instruments themselves look unique enough to give them anything to go on. Screwdrivers, kitchen knives, a rusted pipe, even a two by four. The kinds of things you could find in any garden shed or garage. “Any fingerprints?”

“Nada,” she replies, tilting her head slightly and clicking her tongue. “They may not have known what they were doing when it came to beating the life out of this poor guy, but they sure were smart enough to wear gloves.”

“Damn it.” 

Dan stands just in the entrance to the abattoir, notepad in hand talking to a heavy set, grey haired fellow in an ill-fitting security uniform. The site security guard. Judging by the powdered donut dust on his shirt and the jelly caught in his moustache, the man has higher priorities than the security of the warehouses on site.

After a few moments, she sees Dan nod amicably and he leaves the man, coming to join the group.

“Anything?” she asks him, hoping the man would at the very least be able to provide them with the CCTV footage from the camera that they’d seen on the way in.

His face creases and he presses his lips together, shaking his head. “Nope, sorry Chlo. Guy said the security cameras have been busted for months and he said he never comes down this side of the site. No point,” he glances around, gesturing to the derelict warehouse, “there’s nothing down here.”

_Damn._ There goes her only lead.

She shakes her head, crossing her arms. The place is cold. Her thin jacket does little to protect her against the chill that’s settled in her bones.

“We need an ID on the victim…” she mutters.

Ella perks up. “Working on it, I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve got something.”

“In the meantime, Lucifer and I…” she trails off when she turns to Lucifer, noticing that he hasn’t moved a muscle the whole time they’ve been talking. He just stares blankly at the victim, something haunted in those dark eyes. “Lucifer?”

He doesn’t respond.

Dan raises an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms. Ella looks up from packing her bag back up, her eyes wide with concern and lips parted slightly.

“Lucifer?” she repeats again as she reaches out to touch his shoulder.

Her fingers meet the soft fabric of his jacket and he jerks away violently, spinning on his heel to look at her. There’s a tense moment as he skittishly looks between the three of them, his eyes wide, confusion clear in his features.

She can see it then. The fear in his eyes.

And then his fight or flight response kicks in and he chooses the latter, swiftly turning on his heel and hurriedly striding away from the group before she can even register what’s happened.

“Is he… _okay?”_ Ella asks, her voice thick with worry.

She shakes her head, trying to swallow past the lump that’s lodged itself in her throat. Because despite everything she’d told him he’s still hiding from her. _Running_ from her.

And maybe this is worse than she thought it was.

She feels like she’s losing him all over again and that scares her.

Perhaps more than anything ever has. 

“I don’t know.”

~

She tries his phone.

No answer.

The car is still parked where she left it.

She walks around the site a little, skirting the perimeter of the abattoir and finds nothing except the piece of gleaming white that stands out against the dirty asphalt.

A single, downy feather. Too big to be that of one of the seagulls cawing overhead.

She bends down and picks it up, feeling the familiar warmth of it seep into her skin.

He could’ve gone anywhere she thinks with a sigh.

A gut feeling tells her exactly where he is though.

And it’s right.

~

She spots his dark outline against the soft, golden sand immediately. He’s hunched over, knees pulled up close to his chest, shoulders slumped.

Even from the top of the beach she can see how defeated he looks. How _lost_ he is.

She kicks off her shoes and picks them up, her feet sinking into the warm sand as she walks over to him.

“Hey,” she says coming to a stop beside him.

He looks up at her, squinting slightly against the sun’s rays beating down on him. The repetitive crash of the waves is almost melodic. She breathes in a lungful of the salty sea air, tasting it on her lips. It’s soothing. It reminds her of a time when things weren’t so complicated.

“Track my phone again?” he asks, letting his head fall to rest his chin on his knees once again staring out over the horizon.

She sets herself down next to him so that they’re shoulder to shoulder, only just brushing against him and places her shoes down at the side of them. “No…” she shrugs, following his gaze across the horizon, watching as a bird swoops down, ducking into the ocean before arching back upwards, dripping water that shines in the sunlight. “It was just a hunch I guess.” 

Silence stretches between them, filled only by the ocean’s song and the distant joyous laughter of children playing on the beach.

_Their beach._

“You dropped this,” she says, pulling the soft feather out of her jacket pocket and holding it out to him.

He looks at the thing in her hand for a moment, watching the barbs ruffle in the light breeze before shaking his head. “You keep it.”

She runs her thumb over the downy afterfeather before tucking it back away.

She wants to ask him what happened back there but knows the answer will be the same as it always is. So, she tries something different. Prising his arm away from him, she takes his hand in hers.

He raises an eyebrow at her as she intertwines her fingers with his and she smiles back, fondly recalling the memories they share on this beach. “You remember the first time I found you here?”

“Of course I do.” He tilts his head, still regarding her and adds quietly, “I’ll never forget it.” He releases a little puff of air and shakes his head. “And I still don’t know why you kissed me after everything I said,” he mutters.

She laughs and leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder. It feels easy, so much easier than talking has been in weeks. “You’re such a dummy sometimes, you know that?”

He huffs out a little laugh. “I know.”

It feels like she’s gotten something back. She doesn’t know why they’re here, but they’re talking and it’s good. Even if it doesn’t last it gives her hope that he isn’t gone.

“Lu?” she says quietly, breaking the companionable silence that has settled between them.

“Hm?”

She takes a breath, steadying herself. The words may very well upset him, but she has to say them and now seems like as good a time as any. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I know.” He sighs heftily and turns slightly to look at her. “I— I’m sorry. I’ve been… I don’t know. I just… I can’t.” He huffs and squeezes his eyes closed.

“It’s okay.” She pulls him into her, his head awkwardly resting on her shoulder as she wraps an arm around him. “You don’t have to say anything now. I just need you to know I’ll still be here when you’re ready.”

He nods against her and she presses a kiss to the top of his head, savouring the feel of him against her.

“Can you do something for me though?” she asks before quietly adding, “A favour?”

She feels him shift against her. “Chloe you can ask anything of me. I don’t want anything in return, Love.”

She tenses slightly, his words are sweet, but she knows he isn’t going to respond well to what she has to ask of him. Worrying her lip between her teeth she wonders if it’s the right move. She’s so out of her depth and she doesn’t want to hurt him, but she can’t just sit by and do _nothing._ “Go see Linda.”

He inhales sharply. She can feel that he wants to pull away from her. Retreat into himself.

“Please, Lucifer.”

At her plea he seems to soften. He never could say no to her and perhaps using the power she has over him is wrong, but she can’t just stand by and watch him fade away. She can’t. “I know you don’t want to talk, but all I’m asking is that you _try._ ” She reaches up taking his face in her hand, his stubble prickling her skin as she gently guides him to look into her eyes. “It’s not good to keep it all bottled up and I… I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

“I…” he trails off. Conflict swirls in his dark eyes. He doesn’t want to let her down. Or maybe he thinks he already has. The thought makes her heart ache. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” She leans in, pressing her lips to his cheek and pulls him into an awkwardly angled hug. He sinks into it regardless.

It’s a small win, but she’ll take whatever she can get.

~

As she guides him back to the car, she makes a quick call to Linda and has her re-book the session that he’d cancelled earlier that morning. Given the short notice, she hadn’t booked anyone else in.

When she says goodbye and puts the phone down, she makes to get into the car but stops when she sees that Lucifer is stood staring down at the floor.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, wondering why he hasn’t just gotten into the car already.

“There’s sand in my shoes,” he grumbles, looking down unhappily at his shiny _Louboutins_.

She can’t help but giggle a little at that. The Devil himself, _foiled by sand_. “It’s your _own_ fault for leaving your shoes on.” He stands and stares at them like if he tries hard enough the sand will remove itself. “Take them off and shake it out. Don’t expect me to come around there and do it for you,” she says, half-jokingly. She knows she would probably do it if he asked it of her.

He huffs an over-exaggerated sigh and does as he’s told, removing one shoe and tipping the sand out before doing the same with the other.

Soon they are on their way to Linda’s office, once again, in silence.

She turns the radio on, maybe in an attempt to break the deafening silence that lingers between them or maybe because she knows he’ll want to change the station.

He immediately scoffs at the upbeat pop tune that comes on and leans over to fiddle with the display, flicking between channels until he settles on something he likes. She can’t help but smile as he leans back in his seat, resting his head against the window with a soft thud.

When she glances over at him, taking her eyes off the road for only a second, she sees his eyes have fluttered closed. He must be tired. She doesn’t know the last time he’d slept properly. It must have been days ago by her deductions.

A soft hum resonates from his throat after a minute though, his fingers absently tapping along to the music from the radio. ‘ _Running with the Devil’_ she realises the song is. She would have preferred if he slept but he seems to be enjoying something and that’s more than she can ask for.

Eventually she pulls up outside of Linda’s office.

“Lucifer?” she says softly, noting that his humming had fizzled out about half-way here. Maybe he did fall asleep after all.

“Hmm?” He cracks open one eye and tilts his head to look at her.

“We’re here,” she explains at his questioning gaze.

His eyes flicker to the entrance to the office block and back to her. He doesn’t make any move to get out of the car.

“Are you okay?” she asks, reaching out to touch his knee. He seems to brace at the contact.

An uneasy look settles in his features. “I-I just… I don’t know how I feel.” He squeezes his eyes shut and runs a hand through his hair making it stick out at all manner of haphazard angles. When his eyes open again, they meet hers, pleading with her. Begging her to help him. “How am I supposed to tell Linda?”

“Do you want me to come in with you?”

He swallows thickly. His eyes glisten. For a moment she’s not sure what his answer will be. She’s always tried to be supportive of him. She’s glad that he’d met Linda when he did. All the things he’d suffered through, she can’t even begin to imagine the damage that it’d done. Therapy can’t fix millennia of abuse, neglect and isolation, but it’s a start. Apart from being supportive though, she’s never crossed into the realm of actually getting actively involved in his therapy.

Right now, it seems like she might need to.

“Y-yes. Please.”

~

“Chloe!” Her friend greets her with a warm smile in the small waiting room of her office. “I didn’t expect to see you. Lucifer,” she turns to him. He looks up from staring at his shoes to meet her analytical gaze. “I’m glad you decided to come back, after our last session we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Ah, I… yes,” he hesitates, taking a shaky breath and averts his gaze from hers, instead choosing to focus on adjusting his cufflinks. “About that… I _am_ sorry. I never intended to—”

“We’ve discussed this before, Lucifer. You don’t need to apologise for expressing how you feel. It’s only _natural_.”

He nods, only looking like he half believes her. Chloe often wonders how Linda has the patience to deal with him.

When she gestures him inside, Chloe follows close behind, wondering what exactly the procedure is. She stops awkwardly in the doorway not exactly knowing what to do with herself.

“I’d like Chloe with me today, Doctor.”

Linda turns to face the pair, pausing as she goes to pick up her notepad. Her head tilts slightly, her mouth forming a silent “oh” that Chloe takes to mean that she’s seeing more than just a simple request from him.

He hesitates before taking a seat, suddenly seeming unsure of himself. “Is that… alright?”

The Doctor blinks shaking herself from whatever thoughts had been going through her mind and snaps her mouth shut before offering him a thin-lipped smile. “That’s, ah— Yes, it’s fine. Why don’t you both go ahead and take a seat?”

They take a seat on the couch. Lucifer sits with his hands neatly folded in his lap. She leaves a small gap between them, enough not to overcrowd him, but still let him know she’s there if he needs her.

Linda takes her place in her chair opposite the couch, crossing her legs and resting her notebook in her lap. “Before we begin,” she directs her gaze at Lucifer, “are you comfortable with Chloe being here? If you’d like we can start privately and discuss if there are any topics you’d prefer not to be brought up or—”

“No.” He shakes his head holding a hand up to her. “That won’t be necessary, Doctor. Chloe’s the reason I’m here, after all.”

“Okay then.” She nods and jots something down. “Chloe,” she says turning to face her, “you understand that anything said here today falls under doctor-patient confidentiality agreements and that any notes I take will be used professionally.”

Chloe nods. It’s unusual to see her friend in full doctor mode. She’s only ever used to seeing her with her hair down, having fun. She rarely uses her skill for psychoanalysis on her friends.

She supposes it might be considered inappropriate to be close friends with her partner’s therapist, but then again, she and Lucifer did sleep together when he first started coming to therapy. And then there was that time she’d helped him kill himself, well… helped bring him back after _he_ killed himself. And the time she helped him break out of a psychiatric institution.... 

Suffice to say, the bar for professionalism isn’t very high, but Lucifer is _the Devil_ so there is that. It’d be hard to find a therapist who could deal with that as well as Linda seems to. Deep in her heart she’s grateful that Linda is as supportive as she is. Who knows what disasters she’s prevented over the years….

“So,” Linda starts, breaking Chloe out of her reverie, “I’d like to discuss what happened at the end of our last session.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. I got angry and I apologise for that.” He taps his finger on his knee.

“As I said before, Lucifer, you don’t need to apologise for showing your emotions. It’s good that you’re letting your barriers down. We can use that to move _on_. So, tell me, why were you angry?”

He takes a breath and closes his eyes for a second. “I…” he starts but trails off. Linda waits patiently for him to continue. He turns to Chloe, his dark eyes meeting hers. Conflict brewing within. She reaches out, taking his hand from his lap and squeezes it gently, reassuring him that he can say whatever he needs to say.

His face softens, the agitation still there, but now there’s something else. Gratitude. Love. Perhaps even hope.

She can see how much he’s struggling with himself, but she can also see how much he wants to do this. For her.

“I thought I’d ruined everything. I didn’t think Chloe would want me back after I— I thought she’d be terrified of me. But I don’t know why I did it…” he shakes his head. “I just got so angry.” His gaze drops to the floor. He’s still ashamed of his actions.

That seems like her cue to say something. “Lucifer look at me.” She squeezes his hand until his eyes meet hers once again. “I’m not scared of you. I know you would never hurt me. I know you would never purposely do what you did. You’ve been having a hard time recently and I’m sorry that I didn’t notice it sooner.”

He grits his teeth causing the muscles in his jaw to flicker.

“I love you and I’m here for you.”

Linda smiles. “Communication is the key to moving forward. Chloe mentioned you’ve been having a hard time recently. Do you want to talk about that?”

He clears his throat and crosses one leg over the other. “There’s nothing much to tell.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe admonishes giving him her best mom look.

He sighs. “Fine.” He lifts his chin slightly as he addresses the Doctor. “I’ve not been sleeping well.” He lifts his hand. “That’s it. Must be why I’ve been a bit… _short._ ”

She makes a note before looking back up to him, peering over the rim of her glasses. “Why haven’t you been sleeping? Have you been having nightmares again?”

“A few,” he admits with a half shrug. “That’s not it though. I just can’t sleep. I’ve tried, but I just can’t.”

Tapping her pen against her pad, she looks thoughtful for a moment. “Is there anything going on in your life that might be causing you stress?

Chloe watches him carefully. He tenses at the question. The one hand that isn’t in hers twitches, his thumb rubs the silver band of his ring.

“Difficulty at work perhaps? A tough case you’ve been working on?”

His eyebrow raises as he thinks about her question. “Not particularly, no. Nothing we haven’t seen before.”

She watches as he fidgets with the ring on his finger. There’s something about it. He does it a lot, but there’s something that niggles her about it….

Then it hits her.

“The wedding,” Chloe says suddenly.

He raises an eyebrow at her, his lips parting slightly like he’s about to question her, but Linda speaks before he can.

“You’ve been planning your wedding?” she asks.

“Yes, but I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything,” Lucifer replies, sounding offended.

She sighs, shaking her head. How could she have been so short sighted. Of course he’s going to get stressed about it. She remembers when they’d first started dating and how nervous he’d been about their first date. In fact, at every step in their relationship he’d had a freak out of one sort or another.

How had she not seen it sooner?

“Wedding planning is supposedly one of the most stressful events a person can go through. You hadn’t mentioned that you’d started,” Linda states.

Lucifer frowns. “I don’t understand.” He blinks several times in quick succession. “Are you saying that all these… _things_ I’ve been feeling are because of stress? Nothing else?” His eyes are wide. He looks completely baffled.

“It’s possible, yes.” Linda nods, making another note.

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, moving closer to him. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have rushed into it without making sure you were okay first. I didn’t think.” She swallows hard around the lump that’s formed in her throat. “I should have thought,” she says, her voice straining.

The guilt that washes over her is almost unbearable. He’s been so miserable and it’s all her fault. He’s been suffering because she was too dense to see past her own selfishness.

He just seems so confident. So formidable. It’s so easy to forget how fragile he is beneath his suave exterior.

He stares at her, his gaze uncomprehending. “I… I don’t understand.”

“Stress is complex. It can manifest itself in many different ways. When something _important_ is on your mind, you often find that you worry about it _without_ _realising_ it.”

He just stares back at her blankly. “But… what about….” He squeezes his eyes shut, his face creasing as he rubs his forehead. After taking a breath, he looks back up to Linda, whatever he’d intended to say before now forgotten. “How do I stop it?”

She smiles softly back at him. “There are many ways in which we can deal with stress. You need to find something that works for _you_. Perhaps you could set aside time to spend _together_. Do something aside from work or wedding planning. It’s important that you take time to do things for _yourself._ Read a book. Take a bath. Find ways to relax.”

“If I do that, all these horrible feelings… they’ll just… _stop?”_ he asks sceptically.

“It’s not a miracle cure but knowing that it’s _okay_ to feel overwhelmed and _pacing_ yourself can help to reduce stress levels.”

~

Lucifer spends the rest of the session in an unseeing daze, barely registering what the Doctor is saying.

_Stress?_

Could that be it? Such a simple explanation for all the things that have been happening to him….

It seems ridiculous really.

He doesn’t _feel_ worried about the wedding.

But Linda said it and she is far wiser than he when it comes to these matters, so he supposes it must be true.

He’s just stressed. Nothing more.

Or so he’ll keep telling himself.


	3. Ship To Wreck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“And oh my love remind me, what was it that I said?_  
>  _I can't help but pull the earth around me, to make my bed_  
>  _And oh my love remind me, what was it that I did?_  
>  _Did I drink too much?_  
>  _Am I losing touch?_  
>  _Did I build this ship to wreck?”_ \- Ship To Wreck by Florence + The Machine

It doesn’t get better.

He tries. He really does. But it only seems to get worse.

On the odd occasion that he actually manages to fall asleep he’s plagued with nightmares, each more vivid than the last until he just _can’t_ take it anymore. Sick of waking drenched in sweat, unable to breathe, he just gives up.

Defeated, he starts to wait until Chloe falls asleep before sliding out of bed. He spends his nights trying and failing to drink himself into oblivion, if only to forget for one moment the horrors that he sees when he closes his eyes.

None of it helps.

The nightmares seem to chase him, haunting him whilst he’s awake.

The sounds, the smells. All the hurt and pain and downright agony of it all, so real that the lines between reality start to blur.

He’s lost his grip and now he’s falling, deeper and deeper into a dark abyss. Somewhere inside he’s afraid of what will happen when he hits the bottom.

But he doesn’t want to disappoint Chloe. He doesn’t want her to know that he’s failed her, so he smiles when it’s expected of him, laughs, even manages a quip every now and again. His heart isn’t in it though.

 _He_ isn’t in it.

He doesn’t know where he is.

Sometimes he doesn’t know if he _is_ at all, or if he’s still in Hell and _this_ is all just an elaborate hallucination thought up by his malfunctioning mind, keeping him busy whilst his body rots in that cell.

He doesn’t know and that scares him.

Chloe seems hopeful though. Hopeful that he’s getting better and he doesn’t want to crush that. He can’t let her down. He just can’t.

So he continues to play the part. For her.

~

“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?”

He frowns at her from his place sat at the breakfast bar. How had she realised? He’d been careful to always make sure she’s asleep before he slipped out of bed and even got back in before her alarm went off.

He doesn’t like hiding things from her, but when given the choice between hiding or upsetting Chloe, he will _always_ choose the former.

“What makes you say that?”

She turns to him, placing a hand on her hip, her eyes narrowing. “You missed a button,” she points out.

He immediately looks down at the buttons on his shirt. “Oh bloody—” Only he hasn’t missed a button. He looks back up at her. “No I haven’t.”

“But you thought you had. Come on,” she gives him a pointed look, “enough of this. I _know_ something’s still going on, Lucifer.” She steps towards him, stopping at the counter. “Why are you still hiding from me, after everything?”

She sounds disappointed. He knows he’s let her down. “I just didn’t want you to worry….” His gaze falls to the counter.

Leaning over and taking his face in her hand, she guides him to look at her. “We’ve talked about this. No more keeping things from me.”

“How did you know?” he asks quietly. It’s a stupid question. She’s a detective. The _best_ detective this city has likely ever seen. She was bound to figure it out sooner or later.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Seriously? You didn’t think I’d notice Trixie’s snacks mysteriously vanishing in the night or the fact that I can see the _Netflix_ account. I mean, I really doubt Trix has somehow watched four seasons of _Suits_ without me noticing.”

He grumbles.

“And there’s a crease in your shirt that you haven’t complained about _once._ Not to mention yesterday when you put the dishes away in the fridge.”

“Right.” He nods. Clumsy, foolish mistakes. He really is losing his touch.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He sighs, shaking his head. “There’s nothing to talk about. I can’t sleep, that’s it.”

Folding her arms, she gives him a sceptical look. “That’s it? There’s nothing else?”

“Nope,” he replies popping the “p”. He manages a wan smile though his heart really isn’t in it. By the way she looks at him, he can tell that she knows it too.

She hums. “Do you feel up to doing something at the weekend? I thought maybe we could have a barbeque. You know, invite everyone round. Have some food, drinks….” Her hand strays, her fingers running over the material of his lapel. “You know, relax. With friends.”

“If you want,” he replies with an indifferent shrug.

“No,” she says firmly, shaking her head. “Not what _I_ want. What _you_ want.”

It always throws him off when she says something like that. Asks him what _he_ wants. No one ever has before, no one except her.

“I…” he swallows, trying to clear his suddenly tight throat. “I suppose that would be… nice. Yes.”

“Okay then.” She smiles at him. Soft. Pure. The light she radiates is almost enough to let him forget for a moment, the empty, hollowness that resides inside, threatening to consume him.

Almost.

~

“Come here.” She grabs his hand as he sets the book he’d been reading down on the coffee table and all but pulls him to his feet. Her eyes linger on the almost empty bottle of scotch and tumbler that sit on the table, but she says nothing.

He allows himself to be moved, he’s really just too tired to put up any sort of resistance or even ask where she’s taking him. So, he follows, somewhat pleased to find that he’s actually managed to drink enough to feel more than a little bit buzzed.

She leads him upstairs and into the bathroom where the darkness is illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of dancing candlelight. The water that fills the tub steams, filling the air with the aroma of lavender bath salts.

He stops in the doorway and blinks a few times trying to comprehend the sight before him. “What’s this?”

She turns to him, smiling softly, her beautiful features glowing in the low light. She looks incandescent. His lighthouse. His shining star. Guiding him back from the darkness.

“I ran you a bath.” She steps closer to him. Her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder, slowly rubbing a soothing pattern up and down his arm. “I thought it might help you relax before bed.”

He can only stand, speechless, staring into the brilliant blue depths of her eyes. She… did this for _him?_ He can’t quite believe it… he just knows that he doesn’t deserve her. Doesn’t deserve any of this.

“I made it nice and hot. Just how you like it.”

“I….” He swallows. Why would she do this for him? He’d disappointed her.

That’s all he is.

All he’ll ever be.

A disappointment.

She pulls him, gently ushering him in. “I know it’s stupid, but please, just try. For me?”

“It’s not stupid,” he replies quickly. He never meant for her to get that impression. “It’s… quite lovely. Thank you, Chloe.”

“You’re welcome. I just hope it helps.” The smile that graces her lips can only be described as divine. She places her phone down on the counter, unlocking it as she adds shyly, “I even made you a cheesy playlist.”

She clicks something and the first few bouncy notes of _‘Only You’_ spill out of the speaker, filling the room around them. One of their songs. From when they’d danced in Lux so long ago.

The memory is almost enough to make him genuinely smile.

Almost.

“I’ll stop bugging you now.” She edges past him towards the door, stopping briefly to place a light kiss on his cheek. “Just shout if you want anything, okay?”

He nods wordlessly and watches as she disappears through the door, closing it behind her, plunging him into near darkness.

As he unbuttons his shirt, pushing it over his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The jagged, red scar that cuts across his torso. His eyes linger on it.

It’s a reminder. Of how weak he’d been. Of how undeserving he is.

Taking a breath, he manages to shake the thought and finishes undressing before dipping his toes into the water. It’s hot. Probably as hot as Chloe was able to get it, she knows he likes it like that. Ever the one for over-indulgent, scorching hot showers.

He slips beneath the water with a content sigh. For a moment the heat seeping into his muscles is just what he needs. It warms him to his core.

Perhaps this _is_ all he needs. Time to relax.

For the first time in a long time he feels content. The alcohol in his veins dulling his senses as the water soothes his aching muscles.

He lets his head fall back, his eyes fluttering closed and drifts.

But it doesn’t last.

With his eyes closed his senses seem to overload. The heat overwhelming him until it burns. The music fades away and suddenly he isn’t in the bathroom anymore.

The world transforms into an incomprehensible, swirling mess around him. Wind screams in his eardrums; the change in pressure making them feel like they might explode.

It feels like he’s on fire.

He can’t scream. Can’t slow his descent.

Just like that he’s falling again and he’s powerless to stop it.

The churn of his stomach as he falls is nothing compared to the writhing agony of burning again. He can hardly breathe. Each breath comes with difficulty, laboured. Barely getting the oxygen that he needs, his head spins, consciousness wavering as he falls.

Down, down, down.

Powerless. Weak. A failure.

Plummeting, yet again, into that place. The place he belongs.

The smell of his own burning skin fills his nostrils as he feels it blistering, bubbling.

He continues to fall until he doesn’t.

Suddenly he snaps back to the present, his wet hands clumsily fumbling to grab the side of the tub as he thrashes, gasping for air.

He isn’t sure what is or isn’t. It doesn’t matter though.

All that matters is _escaping_.

Scrambling to his feet, water sloshes to the tiled floor, but he doesn’t care. He clutches at his chest, his heart pounding too fast as the world around him blurs.

Then he’s on the floor. A jab of pain piercing his skull as he re-surfaces from… _wherever_ his mind had gone.

The door swings open, harsh electric light floods in and stings his eyes as he pulls himself from the floor clutching his head in his shaking hands.

“Lucifer, what—” She pauses on the threshold, eyes wide as she takes in the scene before her. Her face creases in concern as she grabs a towel from the rack and bends down to help him up. “ _What happened?”_

“I….” He looks around the room as he allows her to help him to his feet. A splash of blood swirls in the water that soaks the floor. He touches his forehead, wincing only slightly, and pulls back to see the slick red that coats his trembling fingers.

He wants to tell her the truth. If only he knew exactly what the truth was….

First, he’d been sat there and then he was falling again….

“I-I fell….”

“Yeah I can see that,” she replies as she guides him to sit on the toilet lid and leans closer to him, her scrutinising gaze assessing the wound on his forehead. “Do you remember what happened exactly?”

He clutches the towel she’s draped over him closer, wincing as she wipes the blood from his forehead with a damp cloth. “I… don’t know.”

She holds a finger up, moving it in front of his eyes and watches intently as he traces its movement. After a moment she seems satisfied with what she sees and drops her hand to his knee, squeezing lightly. “You feel dizzy, lightheaded, nauseous or anything like that?”

“Not now, no.” He can only stare back, pleading with her for an explanation.

Something to tell him that he isn’t losing his damn mind.

But she just sighs, her face soft and eyes filled with concern as she looks over him silently for a moment. Then she shakes her head, as if dismissing whatever she’d been thinking. “Alright… I don’t think it’s serious. Why don’t you get dry and go get in bed? I’ll clean this up.”

He nods wordlessly, rising.

“Oh, and Lucifer?” she calls after him just as he slips past her into the bedroom.

“Yes?”

She turns to face him from her position still crouched on the floor. “If you feel… _ill_ or anything like that you need to tell me, okay? You could have a concussion.”

He nods again. The worry in her eyes only tells him once again what a disappointment he is.

~

He stares down at the running water, gushing from the faucet, splashing over his hands. Focuses on the cool feel of it on his skin.

When he lets his eyes flutter closed, a flash of fire dances across his vision. The familiar feel of flames licking his skin. The smell of burning and the stifling heat overwhelming his senses.

His breath catches in his throat as he opens his eyes once again.

The water still runs.

His heart pounds hard against his sternum.

The lines between reality are blurring to the point where it’s difficult to tell what is real and what is not. It feels like he’s living two lives, but at the same time _barely_ living either.

He’s drowning.

Very slowly, he is drowning.

He may be kicking his feet enough to remain afloat for now, but he still swallows water. Still struggles, every moment, to stay that way.

To stay here when Hell is trying to pull him down.

Any moment now he knows that he’s going to go under again and maybe this time he won’t come back.

“Hey.” Her voice breaks him from his trance. His fingers move to resume scrubbing the dish in his hands. “Need a hand?”

She doesn’t wait for his response, instead moves to stand next to him, playfully bumping her hip into his. Grabbing the tea towel, she begins to dry the dishes as he hands them to her. She smiles at him so radiantly, so filled with joy. It should dazzle him.

Make his heart flutter in his chest like it used to whenever she so much as looked at him.

But it doesn’t.

He only feels empty.

Regardless, he tries to push past it, offering her a weak smile in return. It obviously doesn’t convince her, but it’s all he can manage.

They finish the dishes in companionable silence.

“So,” she says, passing him the towel to dry his hands with, “still feeling up for tomorrow?”

Tomorrow. He blinks several times, uncomprehending, before he remembers what day it is. Without sleep, they all just seem to have blurred into one indiscernible mess.

It unnerves him. Not being able to remember. He _always_ remembers.

Today is Friday, which means tomorrow is Saturday. Their barbeque. They’d invited all their friends.

He doesn’t feel like it. He doesn’t feel like _anything_. But surely if he acts normal, ignores the visions that are plaguing him, takes his mind off them, surely they will cease.

They have to.

Otherwise he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

There isn’t anything he _can_ do.

He forces a smile back at her, though he’s sure it looks more a grimace than anything else. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Her hand gently grips his forearm as he dries his hands. “It’s okay to say no. You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to. I won’t think any less of you for it.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he takes a steadying breath.

She’s right. He doesn’t want to. Not at all. But she’s trying and he can see it wearing on her. The least he can do is try in return.

He wants to try.

_Has to._

“I…” he trails off, swallowing hard. “I-I want to try,” he admits, somewhat sheepishly. He cracks his eyes open hesitantly. Somewhere in his brain, he expects to see her look disgusted at his display of weakness, but no. Not Chloe. She just smiles a smile that lights up the whole room.

Stepping closer, she loosely wraps her arms around his waist and leans into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispers.

~

There isn’t a cloud in the sky. It’s not unusual. This is L.A. after all. The harsh light of the sun beats down on him as he shields his eyes against it. The seemingly never-ending expanse of crystal clear blue just a little too bright for comfort.

It’s never bothered him before, but now it only serves to aggravate the dull ache that’s settled behind his eyes. He rubs his temples hard. His nails digging into his skin. Willing it to go. To leave him in peace.

Around him, his friends laugh. Their tongues beginning to loosen under the influence of a few drinks. They seem to be enjoying themselves, completely unaware that he isn’t.

He hasn’t been paying attention to the conversation. No, his thoughts are far too preoccupied for that. He just feels like… like he’s on the outside looking in. Present but not fully. 

Dan laughs heartily at something Maze says, almost spilling his beer. Amenadiel chuckles at whatever it was. Linda and Chloe smile on as Ella engages in an animated conversation with Trixie.

His eyes settle on Chloe.

He wonders briefly if she and Linda have been talking about him before she catches him staring and makes a gesture to excuse herself. She makes her way across the small garden and settles beside him, her hand on his shoulder.

“Hey.” Her hand gently squeezes. “You okay?”

Dan looks at him for a moment, his features softening. He recognises the expression well, though it’s not usually something people direct at him.

_Pity._

Well, he doesn’t need the _Douche’s_ _pity._ He doesn’t need anyone’s pity because he’s fine.

He hums, pulling away from her touch to stand. “Going to put food on,” he grumbles as he moves to stride past her towards the house.

She quickly catches his arm before he can and pulls him to the side, out of earshot of everyone else. “Lucifer,” she says sternly, giving him a scolding look that only serves to irritate him more than he already is. “I asked you a question.” She pokes him in the chest with her index finger. “No evading.”

“I’m fine,” he grinds out.

She eyes him for a second, scrutinizing him before replying, “You don’t seem fine.”

He huffs and rolls his eyes. A sad look crosses her features. He knows why. Because he’s distancing himself from her. Because it’s easier to do that than to deal with… _everything else._

“Chloe, please.” Whether he’s asking her to stop or begging her for help, he can’t be sure. He averts his gaze, the sadness in her piercing stare too much to bear.

Everything is too much right now.

He just wants to not feel like he’s drowning for one second. What a blissful second that would be.

She stares at him, questioning. Trying to understand what she clearly can’t. “Wha—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” he snaps. “Please. Don’t ask me again. I’d rather not get into it right now.”

A hurt look flashes across her features before she steels herself, nodding and covering it with a carefully constructed smile. “Okay. Sorry.”

He rubs his temples, silently cursing himself for hurting her. Hurting her _again._

It’s all that he seems to be capable of these days.

“Chloe, I….” _What?_ What can he say that can make this better? Nothing. Nothing can change the fact that his behaviour is driving a wedge between them. She’s patient with him. Doing her best to understand, but everyone has their limit.

He’s afraid that if he carries on like this, she’s going to reach hers very soon.

But he can’t stop himself.

Staying in control seems to become more of a struggle with each day that passes.

She shakes her head, biting her lip. Probably to stop it trembling. She does that when she’s upset. And he upset her. “No. That’s okay. I shouldn’t have—” She shakes her head again, dismissing her thought. “You do what you have to, Lucifer. If you need space, just… just go.”

His lips part, his breath catching in his throat. Deep down he finds that he doesn’t want to go.

He doesn’t know where he wants to be, but he knows that he doesn’t want to be away from her. “No. I’m… _trying_ to be okay. I am.”

“Okay.” She nods. “That’s okay.”

“I’m going to get the food on,” he says quietly, already retreating.

She nods silently back at him, watching him go without another word.

He pours himself a generous helping of scotch with shaking hands and downs it in one mouthful, not even pausing long enough to taste it.

He quickly pours himself another, telling himself that it’ll help him relax. That it’s just to calm his rapidly beating heart.

Leaning over, both palms flat on the cool, granite counter, he takes a breath, trying to steady himself. The packages of meat that he’d come inside to retrieve lay next to him, momentarily forgotten.

He just needs a minute to pull himself together. Just a moment. That’s it. He’ll be fine after that. 

“Lucifer?” A voice from behind startles him, causing him to spin on his heel towards it. Ella stands there, brown eyes wide with concern. “I-I just came to see if you wanted a hand with the food…” she trails off, looking slightly uncomfortable before her brows furrow. Her mouth opens but for a long moment no words come out. She just stands, awkwardly staring like she has no idea where to put herself as he tries his best to smile but fails miserably. “A-are you okay?”

And there it is again. That look.

Pity.

He sighs, slumping against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face as he stares down at the floor. “That does seem to be the million dollar question,” he replies flippantly before adding quietly, “If only I knew the answer….”

She hesitates for a moment before moving towards him. He eyes her out of the corner of his vision. Surprisingly, she doesn’t make any move to _hug_ him. She just stands next to him, smiling softly. Not with pity, but with… _understanding_.

“I totally get that.” She pauses a moment. “It can be hard, you know, when people ask and you know they are doing it because they care, but a part of you just wants them to not ask. And it’s like, it’s hard enough dealing with those feelings without having to be all open about them.”

He raises an eyebrow. How does she know how he’s feeling?

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I understand. And I know this is probably stupid,” she pauses, shrugging, “because you have Chloe and Linda and probably like _loads_ of other people you’d rather talk to, but I’m here for you. If you do want to talk, I mean.” After a second of thought she shakes her head and begins babbling once again. “I shouldn’t have said anything. You probably don’t need someone like me to talk to. You’re _you_ and well I’m just—”

“Miss Lopez,” he cuts her off.

She looks up at him with those wide eyes.

“I… thank you. For the offer I mean. I… appreciate it,” he says quietly.

“That’s what friends are for,” she says with a soft smile.

And for a second he doesn’t feel so alone.

He stands in front of the barbeque, spatula in hand, burgers sizzling away happily.

Trixie squeals in delight as Dan and Ella chase her around the garden in what seems to be some foolish game. The sound makes him flinch.

Lifting his glass to his lips, he annoyingly finds it empty. Again.

He huffs, clenching the spatula tighter in his fist as he slams the glass down on the table beside him. He tries to focus on his task, cooking the food, but the harder he tries to ignore the darkness that resides within him, the more it seems to take over.

Engulfing him.

Little by little the world seems to slip away until there is nothing left but him.

Him in that place.

Alone.

It all takes him back there. The heat from the flames licking his skin. Sweltering. The air stifling with the smell of ash and burning coal.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately to will the images away, but once his eyes are closed, he finds himself lost again.

He’s fully submerged now and no matter how hard he tries to fight, no matter how hard he tries to claw his way back to the surface, it doesn’t help. He only gets pulled deeper and deeper until escape feels impossible.

He’s trapped.

Every instinct screams for him to _run_ , but he is trapped here. Held in chains against his will. He doesn’t know if he will ever be able to free himself. If he will ever see the outside of this cell or the light of day again. Ever smell anything other than ash mixed with his own sweat and blood.

Ever feel anything other than pain.

Somewhere behind he hears footsteps. His brief respite is over. His torturer is returning.

A strong hand grips his shoulder.

Suddenly he lurches back into reality. He blinks, squinting against the light of the sun, trying to comprehend what has just happened.

Pain courses through his hand.

Dan is crumpled into a pile on the grass in front of him. Blood trickles down his face.

Chloe shouts at him, kneeling down beside the other man, but he can’t seem to move himself. He’s stuck, the world seems to carry on around him whilst he remains frozen.

She looks up at him expectantly from the floor. She looks… angry. He isn’t sure why. The others gather around, moving past him. None pay him too much heed. Only concerned about the bleeding man on the floor.

Bringing his hand up to his face, he looks at it. His knuckles sting. They’re grazed, angry red peeking out from beneath his broken skin. There’s a splatter of blood on his hand. Must be Dan’s.

He must have… _punched Dan_.

One second he’d been in Hell, his torturer returning and the next… he’s here and he… _attacked_ Dan….

What is _wrong_ with him?

He finds himself moving away from everyone, stuck in some kind of trance that he can’t break. Maybe he’s lost something along the way. A part of him left behind in that place.

Maybe it’s the part of him that feels or maybe he’s just feeling so much that his mind simply can’t comprehend it all. Overloading. Short-circuiting.

He doesn’t know.

All he knows is that he is truly lost.

If anyone notices him walk away, they don’t say anything. Or maybe they do, and he just can’t hear them through the thick cloud that’s fogging his brain.

Before he knows it, he’s locked himself in the bathroom. His hands grip the sink hard. It’s the only way to stop them shaking.

He squeezes his eyes closed, desperately trying to catch his breath. To focus on anything other than the call of Hell that tries to pull him back. He grits his teeth. He will not let Hell win.

He _can’t_ let it.

Forcing his eyes open, he looks at himself in the mirror.

He hates what he sees.

The scar across his face, the fear in his eyes.

He’s weak. Useless. No good.

Just a disappointment. A failure.

He only ever hurts the people around him.

Anger builds in him. His clenched hands tighten on the sink until the porcelain cracks beneath his fingers, crumbling, cutting his skin.

The sharp shards dig into his flesh, causing droplets of crimson to spill free, splattering white with stark red.

It stings. The pain grounds him momentarily before a thick fog of anger rolls in colouring his vision red and in a flurry of swift movements he punches the mirror, the glass shattering along with his reflection.

He stares for a second at the distorted image of his face staring back at him.

Cracked.

Fractured.

_Broken._

Broken like he is. A true reflection of what lies beneath.

The pain that shoots from his now bloodied knuckles feels… not _good_ exactly, but it’s something other than the soul-crushing sadness, the fear, the anxiety that plagues him. So, he punches again and again, uncaring about the mess he’s making of the bathroom, or of his hand.

It doesn’t matter.

Pieces of glass and tile fly free. His blood drips down the wall. He doesn’t realise he’s shouting until he stops, the wind leaving him. His legs give way beneath him, no longer willing to hold him up, and he slumps to the floor.

A last strangled cry escapes his lips as his head falls into his shaking hands and then he sobs.

He remains like that, legs pulled up to his chest, back arched, his bloodied, probably broken hand shaking violently, for a long time. He’s not sure how long. Not that it matters. As soon as Chloe finds him like this, she’ll surely leave him for good.

A knock comes at the door.

He ignores it, but whoever it is persists.

“Lucifer?” a small voice comes, not Chloe. Ella, he realises. “You in there?”

“Go away,” he grumbles, his voice hoarse.

There’s a pause. He wonders if she’s just gone. It doesn’t seem like something Ella would do. “Lucifer,” her voice comes again, this time more hesitant. “Are you okay?”

He scoffs a rueful laugh. What is he supposed to say? _No?_ He might as well just shout his weakness from the rooftops if he does that, so instead he says nothing.

She bangs on the door again. “Lucifer. Open the door. Please.” He swallows hard. She sounds upset. The conversation they’d had earlier showed him that maybe he could trust her. Maybe she could listen. “I’m worried about you, Lucifer. Please, let me help,” she tries again after a beat.

She’s probably not going to go away he realises. Sighing, he shakily pulls himself to his feet and fumbles with the lock until the door swings open.

Ella stands on the threshold, her gaze flickering over him and becoming increasingly concerned. Her mouth falls open when she sees his hand, her eyes widen at the mess behind him.

She steps forward, gently taking his arm. She handles him as though he may break if she’s too rough. Maybe he will. It certainly feels that way. 

After a moment she looks up at him, brown eyes wide. Her lips part slightly. Sadness fills her features. She looks like she might ask something, but then shakes her head dismissively and says, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

She leads him to the kitchen. Chloe sits at the table with Dan. He shoos her away whilst she fusses over him, namely the cut across the bridge of his nose. Linda hovers nearby, a worried look creasing her face. Amenadiel and Trixie are nowhere to be seen, knowing Chloe, the Spawn has probably been sent to her room and he doesn’t really care where Amenadiel is.

The room seems to still when they notice his presence, all eyes fixed on him.

“He was in the bathroom,” Ella quickly explains, succeeding somewhat in dispelling the tension in the room.

Chloe rises, her gaze stern as she looks at him. She’s very clearly angry. Which is her right.

He swallows hard, his gaze flickering to Dan who scowls at him. He’d hit Dan and he doesn’t even remember doing it…. He hadn’t _meant_ to do it.

“Thanks Ella,” Chloe says as she steps forward, stopping in front of him. Ella bobs her head and quietly dismisses herself to go check on Trixie. “Lucifer,” she snaps his name and it makes him flinch. Definitely angry. “Why did you—” she begins, her words sharp, reprimanding, before she abruptly falls short.

Her eyes settle on the hand which he holds close to himself. Her features soften, her eyes widen. Her hands gently prise his away from him, taking in the damage. Her fingers carefully examine it, her touch softer and more caring than he deserves.

“What….” Her breath catches in her throat and she shakes her head as if pulling herself from the shock. She looks back up to his face, her expression pleading. “What happened?”

“I…” he trails off, feeling himself deflate. Her beautiful blue eyes beg him for an explanation that will make this better. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have one to offer her. “I might have punched a hole in the bathroom wall,” he says sheepishly, shrugging a little.

“Why would you…” she starts, her voice small before her words trail off into nothing. Her eyes glisten as she worries her lip between her teeth. She takes a breath. “It doesn’t matter right now, this looks broken. Linda, could you take a look please?”

Linda moves from the kitchen. “Of course.” She adjusts her glasses and looks at his hand. “May I?” she asks as she gestures to take his hand from Chloe’s grasp.

Chloe nods a little too much and quickly wraps her arms around herself.

He hisses as the doctor touches each of his fingers, testing their movement. After a moment of examining, she relinquishes his hand and he quickly holds it close to himself again. The sharp pains that he’d originally felt now accompanied by a dull throb that radiates up his arm.

“Definitely broken,” Linda concludes, looking to Chloe. “You should take him to the emergency room.”

Lucifer perks up at that. “But I’m immortal!” he cries indignantly. “It’ll heal given time!”

Linda raises an eyebrow at him. “It still needs to be set otherwise it’ll heal wrong.”

“But—” he starts, but is quickly cut off by Linda.

“And no, I can’t do it.”

“Why not?” he moans. “You were a medical doctor, were you not?”

“But I’m not anymore! Besides, you need an x-ray to see what exactly is broken before it can be set. Chloe,” she says, turning to the other woman, “you should stay with him. I mean, who knows if they’ll be able to set the bone if he becomes immortal again.”

Chloe chews her lip a little more before thanking the doctor. “First,” she says, her glare a little more piercing, “you need to apologise.” She gestures towards Dan who is sipping a glass of Lucifer’s scotch.

Lucifer decides to let the little indiscretion slide. He did just punch the man in the face and if the quickly reddening bruises are anything to go by, it was one hell of a punch. Plus, Chloe probably won’t appreciate him kicking up an argument with the man.

So, he swallows his pride and addresses Dan directly, albeit a little sheepishly. “I apologise Daniel.”

Dan scoffs and looks away. “Whatever man.”

He doesn’t have it in him to argue with him and simply drops his head, his gaze falling to the floor as Chloe ushers him towards the door, picking up her keys from the kitchen counter as she goes. She halts in the doorway and looks back to Dan. “Sorry Dan, I hate to ask but can you—”

“Look after Trix?” he asks, sounding resigned. “Of course.”

As she pushes him out of the door Lucifer hears Dan mumble, “Don’t want her around that nut-job anyway.”

~

They sit in the waiting room for what must be hours. His hand hurts. His back aches from sitting on the hard, plastic chair.

What hurts most though is the icy silence from Chloe. She’s barely even looked at him, let alone touched or spoken to him since they’d left the house.

He supposes it’s only what he deserves.

So, it comes as a surprise when she grabs his uninjured hand tightly in her own and squeezes, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder. “Lucifer,” she whispers softly, “I wish you’d talk to me.”

He doesn’t know what to say and that seems to be the crux of their problem. He just doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, though it feels inadequate, like covering a leaking pipe with duct tape and hoping for the best; eventually the pipe will burst. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do though. What can he say to justify his actions to her when he can’t even justify them to himself?

“I know.” She sighs, the words sound so sad, like she knows they can’t fix this. It makes his heart hurt.

~

Hours later, they head home. His hand had been set and splinted, effectively immobilizing it. He hadn’t found the energy to complain about it and hadn’t really listened when the doctor had told him exactly what was broken. What’s the point? It’ll be healed soon enough anyway.

The only consolation is that he’d been given some half decent painkillers and, because of Chloe’s presence they’ve given him a nice buzz. So, he sits in the car, head resting against the window and lets his eyes drift shut.

She wakes him when they get home and, to his dismay, he finds that his buzz is gone. When he goes to pop another though, she takes the bottle from him and directs him to bed.

He doesn’t sleep though, surprise, surprise. She slips into bed next to him a while later, he’d heard her talking on the phone, probably to Linda or Dan or both. As soon as he’s sure she’s asleep, he carefully pulls himself from her grip and makes his way downstairs.

Finding the bottle of pills in the kitchen drawer, he downs a handful and flops down on the couch.

It feels nice. He feels tingly and light… a welcome break from the darkness that he’s been carrying around with him.

He lets himself drift off as finally he’s found a moment of peace.

~

He keeps taking the pills until there are none left. They last him a couple of days and what a good couple of days it is. He finds it in him to smile again.

He’s happier and he can tell that Chloe is too. Things feel more… _normal_ than they have done in a while.

So, he carries on self-medicating, telling himself it’s necessary. He starts with Oxycodone and then when that no longer satisfies his need he moves to the harder stuff, cocaine, speed, ecstasy. Whatever he can get his hands on.

He’s careful, mind, to not let Chloe know what he’s doing. He knows she won’t approve, but it’s not like he’s an addict. It’s not like he’s hurting anyone, or even himself. He’s the Devil for goodness sake.

And it’s the only way he can find to solve his problem.

One night though, he lays on the sofa after having taken a rather pleasing mixture of cocaine and ecstasy. He’d smoked a joint as well, outside of course, just to take the edge off, though he’s sure the smell still clings to him.

He feels good. Relaxed.

That is until footsteps come down the stairs and Chloe emerges giving him a questioning look. “Lucifer, what…?” She sniffs the air and eyes the empty baggies that he’d carelessly left on the coffee table. Edging forward, she leans down, looking more closely into his eyes. “Are you _high?”_

“I…” he trails off as she looks at him with fire in her eyes. He can’t lie to her, but he knows that she won’t approve. “Chloe, I can explain!”

“ _No_!” she snaps. Her face fills with fury. “My _daughter_ is sleeping five feet away, _Lucifer_ , and you’re here doing… _what?”_ She picks up one of the empty baggies and waves it in front of his face. “Cocaine? _Meth?_ ”

He rises from the couch, his hands held out in surrender. “Chloe, look, I—”

“ _No._ ” She steps away from him, her fists balled at her sides, her lip quivering. “ _Get out.”_

The words hurt, slicing his heart like a knife. “Please, Chloe, let me—”

“I said,” she points to the door, “ _get out.”_

So, he goes without another word.

She’s finally reached her limit with him and now he just has to live with the fact that he’s lost her.

He’d had everything and he’d carelessly thrown it all away.

He looks back over his shoulder one last time as he leaves only to wish he hadn’t. The look on her face is one he knows too well.

_Disappointment._


	4. Wish You Were Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ***Trigger warning for excessive drug use*** (I already put this in the tags but I felt it prudent to warn again just in case)
> 
> Also hang in there, things are starting to look up, I promise! <3
> 
> _“So, so you think you can tell_  
>  _Heaven from hell_  
>  _Blue skies from pain_  
>  _Can you tell a green field_  
>  _From a cold steel rail?_  
>  _A smile from a veil?_  
>  _Do you think you can tell?”_   
> \- Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd

He’s never, in all his long life, been lower than he is now. Metaphorically of course, because geographically you can’t really get lower than Hell.

After being kicked out he stands, staring at the closed door for… he doesn’t even know how long. Minutes. Hours. He can’t tell. His world has crumbled around him and now he stands in its ruins.

He had everything.

And he threw it all away because….

_Because what?_

He doesn’t even know. He ruined his one chance at happiness, and he doesn’t even know why. Maybe he was just sabotaging himself because, deep down, he knows that he doesn’t deserve to be happy.

He’s too weak. Too selfish.

He doesn’t _deserve_ to have someone who cares about him.

His shaking fingers reach out, seemingly of their own volition, his still drug addled brain not quite aware of his own movements, brushing softly against the door.

This is probably the closest he will ever be to Chloe again.

He runs his fingers through his hair and grabs a fistful, tugging harshly as he stumbles backwards until he hits the wall. Clenching his teeth, he stifles a sob as he lets gravity take him, sliding to the floor and dropping his head into his hands. He squeezes his eyes closed and presses his palms into them until he sees patterns dancing in the darkness behind his eyelids.

He wishes he could be someone else. Someone worthy. Someone _good._ But he knows that he isn’t. He never has been.

Nothing has changed. He is still _poison_ to everyone around him.

He’s hurt everyone who’s ever even dared to care about him.

The rotten thing inside of him seeping out and leeching away their happiness until all that is left is pain and sorrow.

He _ruins_ everything he touches and now he’s ruined her. The one person he allowed himself to love.

How selfish he had been, staying with her despite knowing that it would end like it always does.

In misery.

He had hoped that things could change. That for once, if he tried hard enough, if he _wanted_ it enough, he could finally be happy. He knows now though that he’d been a deluded fool, striving for something that he has no right to.

Now he’s left with nothing but pain. That was always inevitable, but he couldn’t have anticipated the heartbreak. Never before has he felt so… lost. So broken.

It feels like it’s killing him.

~

He doesn’t remember how he’d gotten back to the penthouse.

All he knows is that he is here. In this place that is his, but not _home._ Maybe home is somewhere significantly hotter than this. Somewhere he knows he belongs. Somewhere that keeps calling to him.

He can feel it still, in the air around him. Feel the fire, hear the screams, smell the ash.

It’s everywhere. Taking over his senses and he just wants to make it stop.

He stumbles into the bedroom, almost falling over the steps as he heads straight for the safe. He tries to open it, but the splint on his hand stops him. With an annoyed huff he pulls the thing off, revelling in the pain that surges through the not quite mended bones. It hurts and the bones probably won’t heal properly like this, but what does it matter? He doesn’t care.

And it’s not like Chloe cares about him any longer. Not after what he’d done.

The pain is grounding though, and at the moment he’d do anything to take his mind off the Hell that’s closing in around him. It claws at his heels, trying to pull him down and almost succeeding.

Thankfully, the copious stash of drugs stored in his safe falls under the category of ‘anything’ and should do just the trick to take his mind off, well… _everything._ They haven’t been touched since before he’d been with Chloe. He’d kept them for the Saturday nights that often got delightfully out of hand, but it’d been a while since he’d partied like that.

He doesn’t miss that life though. It’d gotten tedious and repetitive in the end. No, the only things he misses now are things that he knows he can’t get back. Things that he shouldn’t have had in the first place.

So, with his hand free of the splint, he fumbles with the keys, his still shaking fingers punching in the combination and greedily grabbing the contents of the safe.

Slumping down against the end of the bed on the cold floor, he tears into his bounty.

He starts with the pills, popping half a bottle. He waits a second for the buzz to kick in; for it to provide much needed relief, but it doesn’t.

He downs the rest of the bottle and a handful of ecstasy just to be safe, but he feels nothing. Nothing but the darkness creeping further and further in, threatening to consume him whole.

It’s maddening. He squeezes his eyes shut, holds his head in his hands, digging his nails into his scalp.

The screams just seem to get louder and louder until he can’t hear his own thoughts.

He just wants it to stop and he can’t make it.

He _needs_ it to stop.

Without Chloe here though he’s metabolising the drugs faster than they can affect him. So, he’ll just have to up his game. He _has_ to because without the drugs he’s afraid. Afraid that he will lose himself.

Afraid that if he goes _there_ again, he’ll never come back.

The chances feel greater than ever now that he has no one to bring him back.

Now that he is truly alone.

~

Chloe sits on the couch, right where he’d been sat. Her hands shake, her heart races.

She can’t believe what has just happened. Or maybe she doesn’t want to believe it.

He’s gone. Again. Only this time it feels worse because it doesn’t have to be this way. They don’t have to be this way. If he’d just _talked_ to her instead of….

She takes a shaky breath.

If he’d just talked to her maybe they could have worked this out. Instead he’d pushed her away, driven a wedge between them and she doesn’t know why.

She knows he’s been having trouble lately and she’s tried, she really has, but it’s all just gotten too much.

But still, she can’t understand why he’s doing what he is. Has he gotten bored of her after all this time? Bored of the domesticity?

She picks up the baggie from the coffee table and turns it over in her hands.

Is that why he’d been doing drugs?

Sighing, she shakes her head and throws the bag back onto the table. She just doesn’t know what to do. She loves him with everything she has, and she wants him to be happy, but it’s become increasingly clear over the past few weeks that he isn’t.

She can’t help but blame herself. Maybe it was something she wasn’t doing, or something he wasn’t doing because of her.

He’d seemed better recently. Happier. Somehow, she’d let herself believe that it’d just been a phase. That his obvious depression had just solved itself, but no, she’d been a blind fool. She’d only seen what she wanted to, him happy, and had ignored the now very obvious warning signs that were pointing to this.

Maybe she’d been harsh on him, not even giving him a chance to explain himself, but with Trixie sleeping five feet away she’d lost it. The ‘ _what ifs’_ just a little too much to bear.

The questions still buzz in her brain though, making sleep a seemingly impossible feat.

There is one question in particular that bothers her. Tugging at her mind. She just can’t shake it off.

He’s never hurt her. Never intentionally done anything to cause her harm.

So, why? Why would he do this to her now?

She sits there until the first sunlight of the day breaks through the curtains.

The house feels… empty without him here now. Despite all they’ve gone through in the past few weeks, he’s always been _here_. Maybe not always all of him, but here, nonetheless.

It feels eerily silent now. A horrible reminder of the last time she’d been without him, when she hadn’t had a choice in the matter. When she’d thought him gone for good.

Eventually she brings herself to get up from the couch, to stretch out her aching limbs and wander over to the kitchen to fix herself a steaming cup of coffee. Just the smell is enough to make her feel a little more alert, to dust the cobwebs from her mind, but it doesn’t help the way her eyes feels so tired that it hurts to blink.

She stares into space for what must be too long because before she knows it Trixie is up and bouncing happily towards her. She clambers into the seat opposite where Chloe leans on the breakfast bar and directs a beaming smile at her.

“What’s for breakfast?” she asks.

Chloe shakes herself. She needs to be here for Trixie. It can’t be like last time. “I—”

“Have you been crying, Mommy?” Trixie tilts her head to one side, her smile quickly fading and her little features creasing into concerned lines.

“I… uh, it’s nothing, Monkey.” She nods, reaching out across the counter to take her daughter’s hand in hers. “Me and Lucifer had an argument, that’s all.”

“Because Lucifer punched daddy?”

She shakes her head. Maybe it’s best if he does stay away for a while, cool off or whatever he needs to do. Clearly his behaviour is affecting Trixie. “No, babe. That was…” she trails off. _What_ was it? Not an accident that’s for sure. Just him losing his temper again? They’d barely even talked about it. _He_ hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Maybe she should have pushed. “I don’t know.” She sighs, shaking her head again. “Lucifer has just been….”

“He’s been sad ever since he came back. I know he tries not to show it, but I can tell.” She shrugs and then adds, “He just needs us to make him happy again, Mommy.”

Chloe blinks. For a moment she’d forgotten how insightful Trixie can be. After all, she had been the only one who had believed Lucifer was the _actual_ Devil from day one.

It’s a nice thought, that they can fix this. That all their problems can go away, just like that. Only she’s not sure that they can, and it scares her.

“We still need to talk.”

Trixie pouts a little, crossing her arms in front of her and leaning heavily on the counter. “But you guys _will_ make up right?”

She reaches out, running a hand over her dark hair. “I hope so, Monkey. I really do.”

They’re just heading out the door when her phone buzzes in her pocket. She has to do that awkward shuffle with her bag, files, keys and phone, managing to close the door behind her whilst wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder.

“Linda, hi,” she greets. “What can I do for you?”

Despite being good friends with the therapist, it’s unusual that they talk on the phone, especially this early in the morning, so the unexpected phone call immediately sets her on edge.

_“Good morning Chloe, is Lucifer with you?”_

She frowns, vaguely remembering Lucifer mentioning having an early session with Linda a few days ago. “No, shouldn’t he be with you?”

There’s a pause. The sound of papers shuffling can be heard through the speaker. _“We did have a session scheduled, but he hasn’t turned up. It’s not like him to be late.”_ Another pause. _“He isn’t answering his phone. Has something happened?”_

“We had an argument.” She warily eyes Trixie, who is waiting beside her, eagerly listening to their conversation. “Hold on, Linda.” She manoeuvres her keys into her hand and unlocks the car. “Trix, go wait in the car, okay?”

“But—” she immediately tries to protest.

“No arguments. Go get in the car now,” she counters in her best mom voice.

She huffs, pulling her backpack up and sulkily walks away. Chloe waits until she’s out of earshot to reply to Linda. “Sorry about that, Linda. I found Lucifer getting _high_ in the living room in the middle of the night. I think,” she shakes her head, chewing on her bottom lip, “this has been going on for a while. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”

_“Drugs?”_ Linda sighs and there’s paper rustling again before she adds, _“I’m worried, Chloe. Do you know where he is?”_

Hearing Linda say she’s worried about him causes a chilling unease to settle in the pit of her own stomach. “I… uh, no. Maybe Lux. I kicked him out and I feel _terrible_ about it. I know he hasn’t been doing so good lately, but I just… with Trixie in the next room, I just lost it with him.”

_“Chloe, listen to me, this is no one’s fault. Look, I’m going to go and see if he’s at his penthouse. I think I know what’s going on and if I’m right… well, I should have noticed sooner.”_

Chloe frowns. Her stomach churns, the Doctor’s words causing anxiety to stir within her. “I’ll come with you,” she says quickly, almost desperately. If something’s wrong with him and she just kicked him out without giving him a chance to talk then she’s not sure how she’s going to forgive herself. “After I drop Trix off, I’ll meet you at Lux.”

_“Okay, see you soon Chloe.”_

~

Lucifer lies, slumped against the foot of his bed, the chill from the cool marble floor seeping into his skin. He’d shed his clothes at some point during the night. He feels better, _freer_ without them.

It’d taken some experimentation, but eventually he’d figured out just the right mixture of drugs to send him into a delightful haze. Of course, the effects hadn’t lasted too long, so regular top ups were necessary.

It’s a good job he had a stash meant for sharing.

He sits, staring into space, mind blissfully empty, limbs wonderfully numb. He’s just coming down from his last high, becoming more aware of his surroundings. The sunlight is now spilling in through the panoramic windows. That’s new. He could’ve sworn it was dark only moments ago.

Or maybe not.

Who cares? He doesn’t. Not when after so long spent drowning he finally feels like he’s floating.

Giving his toes a wiggle, he sluggishly pulls himself to his feet and pads across his bedroom, heading straight for the bedside table where a plethora of pills lay in wait for him.

He downs mouthful after mouthful and washes them down with a couple of glasses of scotch before turning and walking back to his place on the floor.

Only the drugs seem to kick in faster than before. His heart begins to pound hard and fast in his chest. Too hard and too fast. Pain explodes within him as he clutches at his bare chest. His vision blurs, the world around him turning into a messy, unrecognisable swirl. He only realises that his legs have collapse beneath him when he hits the cool, hard floor with a painful thud.

He can’t understand what’s happening.

That is until he hears the ding of the elevator arriving followed by the vague sound of footsteps and someone shouting out his name before the world turns black.

~

They arrive at Lux, head straight for the elevator and wait out the antagonizing ride up to the penthouse. When they get there though nothing seems amiss at first.

Not until she ventures further into the apartment and spots the empty bottles scattered on the steps to the bedroom. Her gaze slowly drifts upwards and through the archway she can see his hand on the floor.

“Lucifer!” she shouts to him, her brain jumping to the worst possible conclusion as she rushes over to him and sees him splayed out on the floor surrounded by drained decanters, empty pill bottles and packages.

She falls to her knees beside him. Convulsions wrack his frame and it sends her spiralling into panic. “Linda!” she shouts to the Doctor, who follows closely behind her. “What do we do?”

“He’s having a seizure. Just…” she trails off, scurrying across the room and returning to his side with a pillow that she slips under his head to stop it from hitting the floor repeatedly.

His muscles are coiled, tense as the tremors continue to shake him. She wants to help but knows that she can’t do anything until the convulsions subside. So, she waits, helplessly watching on.

“Should we call an ambulance or—” Her brain stutters to a halt as a horrible realisation washes over her. _She’s_ causing this. She makes him mortal and, as they’d found out when he’d gotten drunk, susceptible to intoxication. A lump forms in her throat. “Should I leave?” she asks, turning to Linda. “He’ll be okay if I leave, right?”

She can hear the desperation saturating her own voice. The last thing she wants to do is leave him like this, but if something happens to him because of her… she doesn’t know what she’ll do.

“We don’t know that,” Linda supplies, her voice a calm and soothing anchor as she places her hand on Chloe’s shoulder, momentarily quelling her rising panic. “We don’t know how his body will react if you leave. The safest option is for you to stay, okay? I’m going to call an ambulance.”

Chloe nods wordlessly, mind still whirring, but she’s thankful that the Doctor is with her and keeping a level head.

Linda pulls her phone out of her pocket and dials 911, rattling off the necessary information quickly and calmly when the operator asks for it. It doesn’t take long, and Linda is soon putting the phone down and telling Chloe that an ambulance is on its way.

They sit side by side in silence, waiting for the convulsions to stop. After a few minutes they do and Linda leans over him, pulling him so he’s lying on his side.

“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” she asks, knowing full well that Linda can’t tell her the answer, but something inside her just needs to hear that he will.

“I hope so, Chloe,” is all the she says in response.

~

They sit in the waiting room of the hospital on uncomfortable plastic chairs. The passage of time is hard to gauge in the small, windowless room, but it feels like they’ve been waiting forever.

She’d called Amenadiel and had left a message when he hadn’t picked up. Hopefully he’ll get back to her soon. Not only is it his responsibility as Lucifer’s brother to be here for him, but hopefully he can tell whether she should leave. Whether that will make him better.

The guilt of knowing that this is all her fault weighs heavy on her, like an anchor tied to her ankles, pulling her down into icy depths of despair. She’d kicked him out. She makes him mortal.

It’s all her fault.

She can only hope that he’s okay. Yes, things had been rough between them recently, but she still _loves_ him. She doesn’t know what she’d do without him.

Of course, she’s been there before.

She squeezes her eyes shut, desperately trying to fend off the barrage of images from that day when she’d lost him. Of his limp, lifeless body in her arms. His blood seeping into the dirty concrete.

How alone she had felt. Without him she had fallen apart.

She can’t lose him. Not again.

A voice shakes her from her thoughts. “Miss Decker?” A nurse, she realises.

She quickly rises from her chair, ignoring the way her muscles protest the sudden movement and grimaces against the flood of pins and needles that prickle her legs. “Yes,” she answers, hearing the desperation in her voice.

The younger looking man offers her a soft smile, his kind eyes sparkling. “You’re Lucifer Morningstar’s next of kin?”

“I’m his fiancé,” she subconsciously touches the ring on her finger. “He has a brother, but I can’t get a hold of him. Is Lucifer— Is he okay?” The words tumble from her mouth before she can stop them.

The nurse takes it in his stride. “He’s resting right now, if you want to follow me you can go see him and his doctor will come and talk to you shortly.”

She breathes a sigh of relief at the words. “Okay.”

She gasps when she enters the room. Lucifer lies in the bed somehow looking smaller than she’s ever seen him before. His skin is deathly pale. Beads of sweat shimmer on his forehead. His slightly damp hair is a mess of unruly curls.

Standing by the side of his bed, she takes his hand in hers, careful to avoid the IV line. It’s cold but clammy; it’s unnerving given that he usually runs so hot. His other hand is freshly splinted.

She takes the seat beside his bed, his hand still gently nestled in hers. “Oh, Lu…” she whispers.

The one solace in this whole thing is the peacefully look on his face as he sleeps. Hopefully the rest without the nightmares that have plagued him will do him some good. Even if nothing else does.

Still, she keeps asking herself why. Why would he do this? A tear slips down her cheek as she looks to Linda. “Why?” She swallows hard. “Why would he do this, Linda?”

“I don’t know, Chloe.” She moves to stand beside her, placing her hand reassuringly on her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out and we will get through it. He just needs to rest for now, okay?”

Chloe nods wordlessly, too many unanswerable questions buzzing in her mind.

A short while later the door to the private room opens and a woman with shoulder length, greying hair steps in. “Hi,” she greets with a sympathetic smile, “I’m doctor Austin.” She adjusts her glasses and glances down at the paperwork in her hand. “You must be,” she looks back up to meet Chloe’s eyes, “Miss Decker.”

She nods. “Yeah. Uh, Chloe. Can you tell me how he is?”

“Yes.” The doctor smiles fondly. “The good news is that we believe Mr. Morningstar is going to be just fine. He needs to rest now, but he should be up and about within a day or so. Recovery from an overdose of this calibre varies from patient to patient so we’d like to keep him in for observation for at least seventy-two hours just to be sure.”

Relief floods her. He’ll no doubt complain about staying in the hospital for three days but at least he’s okay. “Okay, thank you.” Then she adds more hesitantly, glancing at Linda for reassurance. “What’s the bad news?”

Doctor Austin sighs, giving her an apologetic look. “Your partner was extremely lucky. He had enough amphetamines in his system to kill a small elephant. If this happens again,” she shakes her head, “I’m afraid that it’s unlikely he’ll be so lucky. I highly recommend thinking about finding a suitable rehabilitation centre for him.”

She moves closer to Chloe and holds out several pamphlets. She reluctantly takes them, the possibilities rushing through her mind. Is he an addict? He does smoke and drink _a lot_ , but it’s never been a problem before. Not until now. Could she even get him to stay in rehab? Would it even help?

She looks down at the pamphlets in her hands. Pictures of people sporting unrealistic smiles adorn the front pages. It’s a shame there isn’t a pamphlet to tell her what to do when your Devil overdoses.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she says as the Doctor dismisses herself, telling her that if she needs anything to just press the help button by the side of the bed.

Linda must sense the question brewing in her mind because the next thing she knows she’s pulling up a chair to sit down next to her. “We’ll figure this out, Chloe. Together.”

Somehow that’s all the reassurance she needs.

~

Voices. That’s the first thing that stirs him, pulling him away from his dark, dreamless respite. Not _voices_ he realises, just one voice. A woman’s voice. He can’t quite make out the words, but it sounds tense and strained.

As he comes to, he makes more sense out of the one-sided conversation. 

_“Look, can you just take her for the next few days? I don’t wanna argue with you, Dan, I just… I can’t right now, okay?”_

His head pounds. Noises seem to grate on him. Steady electronic beeping from some machine and shouts that sound distant wear on his frayed nerves, sending pulses of pain through his skull. But that voice… _doesn’t_. He feels magnetised to it.

_“Please don’t tell her just yet.”_

There’s a pause and a frustrated sounding scoff.

_“I am not! I just don’t want to worry her when it’s not necessary.”_

He’s becoming more aware of himself. Aches and pains assault him from head to toe. With each breath he draws, he feels his mouth become increasingly dry.

_“How dare you, Dan! You don’t know what—”_

Piercing bright, light penetrates his eyes as he cracks them open slightly. The voice sounds distressed and he _needs_ to help though he can’t quite fathom why. He can’t make anything out but dark blobs against the blinding light just yet though. He tries to speak but his tongue feels too big for his mouth and only a garbled string of incomprehensible noises slip free of his lips.

The voice pauses and for a moment there is only silence. _“I have to go Dan. We are going to talk about this later though.”_

And then there’s a hand on his face, gently caressing the stubble on his cheek. He blinks several times in quick succession, trying to pull the world around him into focus.

“Lucifer?”

The images before him become clearer. Golden hair. Worried blue eyes. “C-Chl…” he tries.

“I’m here. You’re okay.”

He doesn’t even realise that he’s panicking until her soothing voice stops him.

“Hey, hey. Just relax. You’re safe.”

His breathing evens out as he settles down and slowly takes in his surroundings. He’s in a bare, sterile looking room. Light floods in through a small window framed by drab, floral curtains. Various machines surround him. A plastic tube is attached to one of his hands, his other is wrapped up, immobilising it.

“Wher’m I?” he manages, despite how awfully parched his mouth is.

“The hospital,” she says, moving to pour water from a jug into a small plastic cup. “Here,” she offers it to him.

He tries to sit up as he takes it, but dizziness and nausea overcome him causing his movements to falter.

She hurriedly presses a hand to his chest and adjusts his pillows. “Hey, take it easy, okay? You’ve been out for a while.”

He has? He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t even know why he’s here. Everything is a blur. For once he finds himself not minding so much. He’d been in his penthouse and then… _nothing._

“You don’t remember what happened?”

He shakes his head but immediately regrets the movement as the world goes wishy washy around him, making him feel sick to his stomach.

She sits down in the chair beside the bed, her lips pursing. Only now is he realising just how tired she looks. The worried lines that crease her face. The way her jaw tenses. “What do you remember?”

“I…” he trails off, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut as he recalls Chloe telling him to get out. Remembers thinking that he’d never see her again. And then he’d gone to the penthouse.

He’d done anything in his power to drown out the constant cacophony of voices in his head telling him that he’s _evil_. That he is undeserving. That he belongs in Hell.

The screams. The smell of fiery brimstone and ash. The sweltering heat creeping up on him.

He just wanted it to _stop._

“I was in the penthouse….” He takes a shaky breath. “I just….”

Opening his eyes, he sees Chloe staring back at him. She’s waiting for an answer. Some explanation for his behaviour. Only he doesn’t have one.

She waits expectantly for several long moments before shaking her head and rising from the chair. “Look,” she says with a sigh, “you don’t have to talk to me, but I wish you’d talk to someone.”

And there it is again. Her disappointment in him. He can hear it in her voice. See it in her eyes.

He _wants_ to tell her. _Wants_ to explain. Anything to stop her from walking out that door because he _wants_ her. To be close to her, to love her. Even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and fires off a message before glancing back up at him. He can’t take his eyes off her. He can’t understand why she’s here after everything he’d put her through, but he knows that he doesn’t want her to leave again.

When she tucks her phone away in her pocket and steps towards the door, he feels his breath catch in the back of her throat.

“I’ve told Linda you’re awake, she should be here soon,” she explains, stopping on her way to the door. “I…” she trails off, her gaze dropping to the floor, away from his. “I’m glad you’re okay. I am. I just….” She looks back up to him. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears and she sniffles a little. “I can’t do this, Lucifer. I’m sorry. I love you, but I can’t just sit back and watch you hurt yourself. This,” she gestures between them, “isn’t healthy for either of us. You clearly need something that I can’t give to you and I don’t know what that is, but I hope that you find it.”

Her lips quirk at the corners forming an unhappy little line.

She’s leaving.

“Goodbye, Lucifer,” she says as she turns towards the door.

Something inside him panics. He knows deep down that this is his last chance. That if he lets her go, then what they have will truly be unsalvageable.

He knows that he doesn’t deserve her. That he wants her to be happy.

But he also doesn’t want to be alone.

“ _No!”_ he cries as her hand grips the handle.

She stops in her tracks.

It’s selfish of him. He should just let her leave, let her be happy without him, but… he _can’t_.

“Please,” he says, desperation thick in his voice, “please don’t go.”

“Lucifer,” she turns back to him, shaking her head slightly, “I’m sorry, but I think it’s best this way. You need _help_. We can’t just carry on like nothing’s wrong. It isn’t good for you.” She pauses before adding more quietly, “I’m not good for you.”

He can hear the guilt in her voice. She _blames_ herself. “No!” he says quickly, almost frantically. “It’s not you! It’s _never_ been you Chloe.”

Her jaw flickers as she clenches her teeth and tilts her chin up slightly, her gaze drifting towards the ceiling like it does when she’s irritated. “ _What_ is it then, Lucifer?” she suddenly bursts. “Hmm? Because if it’s not me, then what? _Why_ are you doing this?”

She takes a step back towards the bed, her annoyance palpable. His heart pounds hard against his sternum.

“That’s the problem here, isn’t it?” She points a finger at him. “ _You_ won’t tell me _why_.”

His chest hurts. His breathing quickens.

Her lips crease into a nasty, upset frown. “If you want me to stay, you need to tell me _why!_ I can’t go on like this, Lucifer!”

“I…” he says breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of questions. “ _I JUST WANTED IT TO STOP!”_ he roars, unable to contain the truth any longer. His anger melts away from him instantly. “I just wanted it to stop…” he repeats more quietly.

“What?” she asks as she stands, frozen to the spot, her eyes wide.

His eyes prickle and he covers his face with his good hand, ashamed to show her his weakness. “I can’t make it stop.” He shakes his head, curling his fingers into his hair and holding on tight. “I’ve tried but….”

“Make what stop?”

She leans on the rail at the side of the bed now, so close that he can hear her rapid, uneven breaths. He moves his hand to look deep into her crystal blue eyes.

“Hell.” He utters the syllable grimly.

He doesn’t look at her and she doesn’t say anything. Her stunned silence speaks volumes enough.

“It’s everywhere,” he murmurs, squeezing his eyes closed and shaking his head, as if that’s going to help rid himself of his burden. “I can _feel_ it all the time. It is _relentlessly_ trying to pull me back—” His voice breaks. He rubs his hand over his face and tries to stifle the sob that threatens to escape his lips but fails, producing a horribly distressed cry akin to that of a wounded animal. Weak. Pathetic.

“Or maybe,” he pauses, shaking his head, and looks up to meet her gaze. “Maybe this isn’t real at all.” A miserable, almost maniacal sounding laugh bubbles within him, slipping from his lips before he can stop it. “Maybe none of this is real. Maybe I’m still in Hell and I’ve just… _lost_ my mind.”

Wet trickles down his cheeks. He gasps for breath, heaving against the onslaught of emotions that assault him.

She just stands there, mouth slightly agape, a mixture of emotions swirling in her features. Shock, worry, guilt… but not disappointment.

“I didn’t reali—” she breaks off, swallowing hard. “Why?” she breathes. “W-why didn’t you tell anyone this? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shakes his head. “Because I _COULDN’T!_ ” he roars the word, feeling hellfire flash in his eyes for the briefest of moments. “How could I? I-I’m just a _weak, pathetic_ _mess,”_ he spits the words as he feels himself crumble into a useless, blubbering pile.

“No,” she says firmly, though there are tears sparkling in her eyes. “No, you’re not.”

She leans over, wrapping her arms around him. He sinks into her and sobs as she gently rocks him in her arms.

“I’m _so_ sorry, Lucifer,” is all she says.

~

Chloe sits outside his room with her head in her hands.

How could she have been so blind? How did she not see him _suffering_? It seems so ridiculously obvious now and she feels terrible about it. About everything. For shouting at him, for kicking him out. He’d been out of line with some of the things he’d done, but she should know him better than that by now.

She should know him well enough to know that when he’s acting out it’s because something is _wrong_.

But she’d been scared and upset and… she’d let herself think that he was just… _what?_ What did she think? That he was just bored of her? That he just didn’t love her anymore? That he was stressed because he didn’t want to marry her?

She’d made every excuse under the sun and in doing so had avoided the truth just as much as he had.

Linda had arrived almost an hour and a half ago and they’d been in there talking ever since. Hopefully he’s finally telling her everything. No more hiding from the truth.

The door to the room opens suddenly, startling her to look upwards. Linda pops her head around the corner and smiles softly. Chloe feels herself tense, anxiety stirring in her stomach and shifts to sit on the edge of her seat.

“Chloe, if you’d like to come back in, I think Lucifer has some things he wants to talk to you about.”

Chloe nods, gripping her handbag in one hand and rises from her chair, bracing herself for whatever she’s about to hear. Whatever it is, she hopes that they can work through it.

Inside the room, Lucifer sits on the bed still, staring down at his hands in his lap. He looks up at her when she enters, his eyes full of hope.

“Chloe.” He pauses, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing along the smooth line of his throat.

“Hey.” She smiles at him as she moves to sit in the chair at the side of the bed. “How are you doing?”

He tilts his head to the side as if weighing up what truth or half-truth he wants to tell her. Linda settles in the corner of the room, seemingly out of the way of them, but still present if they need her. He glances at her for a long moment, the muscles in his jaw flickering, before turning back to Chloe and responding quietly, with a sadness in his eyes that she hasn’t seen before, “Not good.”

Not “ _nothing for you to worry about”_ like she’d heard so frequently these past couple of weeks, but the actual truth.

“It would seem,” he continues, “that I haven’t quite been feeling myself lately.” He sighs, his soulful brown eyes glistening, pleading with her to understand him. “Doctor Linda tells me that—” He breaks off, momentarily looking at Linda who gives him a look that says he should be remembering something that they’ve talked about. He huffs, shaking his head and starts again. “After talking with the Doctor, _I_ believe that I’m suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.”

He looks back to Linda for reassurance, who nods back, silently praising him.

Chloe swallows against the lump in her throat. “I figured after… after what you said.” She folds her arms around herself and turns to Linda. “Isn’t PTSD just like _flashbacks_ not experiencing it all the time? Lucifer said that he felt like it was _always_ there. Not just sometimes.”

She’s seen a few cases of PTSD in her line of work. Now that she thinks about it, the symptoms do fit. The freezing up, the burst of anger, not sleeping, anxiety, depression, but… something doesn’t seem quite right. Of course, she’s no expert.

Linda steps towards the centre of the room, her hands raised placatingly to her sides. “PTSD manifest differently in different individual, the one defining characteristic though is that often patients suffer from flashbacks that are deeply rooted in _memory_ and _recollection_ of one or more traumatic events. It’s difficult to say for certain why Lucifer is experiencing such vivid flashbacks,” she clears her throat somewhat nervously before adding, “We don’t even _fully_ understand PTSD manifestation in humans and well, there isn’t exactly a handbook on celestial psychology.”

“I believe that Lucifer’s symptoms may be influenced by the fact that, not only does he have an eidetic memory, different to that of any humans, but that he also has _millennia_ of trauma that he never dealt with in a healthy manner.”

Chloe nods, worrying her lip between her teeth as she tries to absorb the Doctor’s words. One awful though stirs within her though. A thought that makes her feel sick to her stomach. “Why is this happening now though? I mean he’s been fine for… a _long_ time.” She asks the question even though she’s sure that she already knows the answer.

She did this. She makes him mortal. She’s the reason he’s suffering. That must be it; he’s spent _literal eons_ without ever having any of this. The one factor that has changed is _her._ How can it not be?

“There’s many reasons that this could be happening now. It’s likely, given the nature of most his earliest episodes, that it was all triggered by his recent time in Hell.” Linda eyes her uneasily as if she can read her thoughts.

“But it could be my fault as well, right?” Lucifer looks up at her in shock, Linda just tilts her head slightly, her lips creasing into a sympathetic line. “I make him mortal. He’s been fine for _eons_ without me. Isn’t it more likely that this—” she breaks off, blinking away the tears that have sprung to her eyes. “This is all my fault.”

Linda moves towards her, placing a comforting hand on her arm. She sighs deeply. “It… is possible, but we don’t know that. This is uncharted territory for all of us. What we should focus on is _moving forward_.” She looks between the two of them. “This is the first step and,” her eyes fall to Lucifer; he looks so lost, his mouth pressed into a grim line and his eyes filled with unshed tears, “I know it’s difficult, but we can get through this. We just need to be here for Lucifer.”

“Okay,” she sniffles, wiping her face on her sleeve. “Yeah.”

She should’ve been there for him before instead of being so caught up in… everything but his well-being. From now on she promises to herself that she’s going to be there for him. That they will get through this.

Together.

~

Later that evening they sit side by side, somehow both squashed into the small bed. His arm is wrapped around her shoulders, her head rests on his chest.

They’d talked a lot with Linda today. She knows that the best thing she can do for him is just to be here. To hold him when he wants to be held but to give him space when he needs it.

She still can’t shake the guilt of knowing that all this… all his suffering is likely her fault. “Lucifer…” she says quietly, unsure if he’s asleep or not.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

He shuffles slightly, moving her to look into her eyes. “Whatever for?”

She shakes her head, feeling tears well in her eyes. “For causing this, Lucifer. You’re suffering because of me. Maybe being near me just isn’t what’s best for you right now.”

“I…” he trails off, his brows furrowing, a line creasing his forehead. “Are you saying that I should… _go?”_

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m asking, do you… _want_ to go?” she asks, her voice sounding so small and vulnerable. More so than it ever has before because she knows what she wants, but she can’t allow herself to put her wants before _his_ needs.

If being alone is what he needs, then no matter how much it hurts her, she will let him go.

“I….” He swallows hard. His sad eyes meet hers and she already dreads his answer. Already dreads him telling her that this is her fault. That he’s better off without her. That he’s _leaving_ her.

There’s a long, tense silence.

And then his voice breaks it. “I… I don’t think I do.”

She releases a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, relief flooding her. The doubt in his voice niggles at her though. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he replies without missing a beat.

That’s enough for her. Enough to start piecing what they’d had back together.

She melts back into him, holding him close, inhaling his scent. Only the faintest traces of his cologne linger now. No whiskey nor sickly sweet cigarette smoke. Just him.

“We can get through this,” she says, her voice muffled by his chest. “We can do it together.”

She feels him nod against her. A small, unsure movement. His rough, slightly longer than usual stubble catching her hair as he presses his cheek against her head.

“Together,” he parrots, barely a whisper.


	5. Waste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“How long, I say how long, will you re-live the things that are gone?_  
>  _Oh yeah the devil's on your back but I know you can shake him off_  
>  _And every day that you want to waste, that you want to waste, you can_  
>  _And every day that you want to wake up, that you want to wake, you can_  
>  _And every day that you want to change, that you want to change, yeah_  
>  _I'll help you see it through 'cause I just really want to be with you.”_   
> \- Waste by Foster The People (P.S. this album [Torches] is one of my favourites)

“Is he dead?” Maze asks in a dubious tone, raising a single scarred eyebrow.

Amenadiel stands beside her looking both confused and concerned.

“No!” Chloe huffs, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head. “He’s asl—”

“Dying then?” Maze cuts her off.

“He’s asleep!” she snaps back at the demon, wondering how on earth she could think that.

“Correction,” Lucifer’s previously sleeping form grumbles, cracking open one eye to glare at Maze, “ _was_ asleep.”

Maze looks between Chloe and Lucifer as he sighs and pulls himself up into a sitting position. Her lips twitch into the beginnings of a grimace. “If you’re not dying, then what are you doing sleeping in a… _hospital?”_ She crosses her arms, eyeing the furniture with disgust, almost as if she thinks she’s going to catch something if she touches it.

Lucifer huffs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m bloody tired, that’s why.” Chloe notes with a sigh, that his splint is gone once again. She hadn’t seen him take it off or discard it this time.

“But why are you in the hospital, brother?” Amenadiel asks, his eyes widening a fraction as he steps towards the bed, his stance distinctly protective. “Were you attacked? Is someone after you? Is it—”

“Enough!” Lucifer snaps, rubbing his temple, his expression oozing irritation. “You’re giving me a bloody headache. I’m fine. Honestly. It was just…” he trails off, shaking his head, “a misunderstanding.”

“The kind of misunderstanding that ends with you in the hospital?” Maze questions.

Chloe can see Lucifer growing more and more frustrated and is about to intervene when he takes a deep breath, visibly calms himself and turns to Maze. “Yes. The details aren’t important now. I’m _fine_ , thanks for asking by the way, and I’ll be on my way home shortly.”

There’s a silence in which she eyes him suspiciously.

“So, if you’ve no more questions,” he throws his hands out to his sides, “I’d ask that you please _leave_ ,” he grinds out through gritted teeth.

Maze stands for a moment longer, holding his gaze in an almost challenging manner. When he doesn’t relent, she shrugs. “Alright. Whatever.” She turns on her heel and without so much as a goodbye, walks out the door.

But Amenadiel doesn’t make any move to follow. He simply stands, looking at his brother with a knowing sparkle in his deep brown eyes. “Luci… come on, what’s wrong really?”

Lucifer grits his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “It’s not your concern, _brother_ ,” he spits the word as if he intends it an insult.

“Alright.” Amenadiel bows his head, raising his hands in surrender. “If you change your mind, you know I’m always here for you, brother.”

Lucifer huffs, his lip curling in disgust as he folds his arms and looks away from his brother completely, staring at some undefined spot on the floor. “I won’t,” is all he says.

A flash of concern dances across Amenadiel’s features before he quickly covers it with a small smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he regards Chloe and hastily retreats from the room.

Chloe sighs as the door shuts behind him. Lucifer sits, arms folded, shoulders hunched. His jaw is clenched and his brow furrowed as he stares at the floor with an intensity, like he’s trying to burn a hole in it with his mind.

She wants to ask why he didn’t just tell Amenadiel and Maze the truth, but she knows she shouldn’t push him, especially not when he looks like he might snap at any moment.

She’d talked to Linda a lot over the past day about the dos and don’ts of living with someone with PTSD and of course, done as much research as she could on the internet.

The main thing she’s figured is that she just needs to be there for him. Don’t push him into anything that might make him feel uncomfortable. Ask him what she can do for him.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asks, very acutely aware of his body language screaming at her to stay as far away as possible.

“No,” he grumbles, turning away from her to lay on his side.

She tries not to take it personally; she knows it’s not his fault. It doesn’t make it hurt any less though.

~

He’s silent. From discharge at the hospital to the ride home. Nothing but icy, fathomless silence stretches between them. A perilous chasm that she doesn’t dare even try to traverse.

She can’t begin to imagine what he’s going through; what thoughts must be turning over in his head as he stares, unseeing out of the window as she drives. He doesn’t even put the radio on.

But she doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask him if he’s okay; that’ll only succeed in making him feel cornered, like he either has to open up or deflect with some half-truth. Instead, she’s just there as silent as he is, waiting for him to set the pace. She’ll wait as long as she has to.

When they arrive home, he slips from the car without a word and follows her sullenly into the house. Once inside, he makes straight for the couch, kicks off his shoes and lies down with his back facing her.

She sets their bags down on the floor by the door and moves to perch on the couch next to him. He doesn’t make any indication that he’s noticed her, and she can’t tell whether his eyes are open or not. Reaching out, she touches him lightly on the shoulder, her fingers barely brushing the thin material of his shirt.

He very nearly jumps out of his skin at the touch, turning in wild, panicked movements to look at her with wide brown eyes that are filled with fear.

She startles at the reaction, silently berating herself. Not even two minutes in the door and she’s already getting things wrong. _Don’t_ startle him.

“Sorry, sorry!” she apologises, reaching out to hopefully calm him. Only he jerks away from her hand, turning back away from her and wraps his arms around himself, pulling his knees up as if trying to make himself as small as possible.

She freezes, her brain desperately trying to come up with some way to comfort him but draws a blank. He trembles slightly, and she’s sure she hears him sniffle before he covers his face with his arm.

“Lucifer,” she says softly, “why don’t you go get in bed? You don’t look comfortable there.”

He mumbles something that she doesn’t catch and doesn’t move from the couch.

“What was that?

Moving his arms, he peers at her with slightly red rimmed, glistening eyes. “I wouldn’t want to impose upon you,” he says flatly, his voice devoid of emotion; his words cold and unfeeling.

“Impose?” She frowns, not understanding what he’s getting at. “What do you mean? This is your _home_ , Lucifer.”

He pulls himself into a sitting position, and for the first time she sees how truly sad he looks. “Is it?” he says with a hint of venom in his voice.

She doesn’t answer. Her mouth opens and closes. She doesn’t know _how_ to answer. It seems like he’s asking a question that he thinks he already knows the answer to, but she just doesn’t understand.

“You said it yourself, you can’t do _this,_ ” he continues, gesturing between them, “anymore.” His gaze drops to the floor. “The only reason I’m here is because you _pity_ me… and why wouldn’t you? I’m _pathetic.”_

“No.” She shakes her head, understanding finally dawning on her. Yes, she had said that, but she didn’t know what he was going through then. She didn’t see how he was suffering, only saw him lashing out and she just… couldn’t take it. He’d shouted at her, hit Dan… how was she to know that it wouldn’t get worse? How was she to know that it was a problem that they could work through when he wouldn’t _talk_ to her.

At the time, leaving had felt like the right thing to do. Only in retrospect can she see it was the worst possible move and she feels terrible for it. “Lucifer… look at me.” He does as she says, pulling his gaze from the floor. She moves, slowly as to give him time to register what she’s doing and cups his face with both hands. “I love you.”

The gloomy look on his face remains steadfast.

“I _want_ to be with you. Nothing will ever change that, okay?” She waits for a moment for him to give any indication that he believes what she’s saying, but he doesn’t. “Look, about what I said at the hospital... at the time I thought _I_ was the reason you were so sad. I didn’t know what was going on with you because you didn’t _tell_ me. I honestly didn’t know what to think, but between the violence and the drugs I was _scared_ , Lucifer. Scared because I _love_ you and all I want is for you to be happy. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew that we couldn’t stay as we were. It wasn’t good for either of us, especially you.”

He swallows hard, a single tear spilling down his cheek, wetting her hand.

“I should have noticed that you were suffering.” She sniffles, barely holding tears back herself. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t pay enough attention to you; that I didn’t see what was going on. I care about you _so_ much. The last thing I want to do is _lose_ you.”

Stray tears trickle down her cheeks. “You do whatever you need to, Lucifer, and I will always be here for you. Always. So, if you want to be mad at me, that’s okay. I just need you to know that I’ll still be here. I mean…” she hesitates, “if you want me to be.”

“Of course I do,” he replies, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not mad at you… I’m just….” He squeezes his eyes closed, his jaw tensing as silent tears continue to cascade down his cheeks. “I’m just mad.” He takes a breath. “There are so many feelings and I just don’t know what to do with them all.” He opens his eyes. Sorrow swirls in those dark brown depths, thick with desperation, pleading with her to help him. “I don’t know what to do.”

His voice breaks and he collapses into her, burying his face in her neck, flinging his arms around her, holding onto her like a drowning man would a life raft. She gently hushes him, encompassing him in her arms and pulling a hand through his hair.

“That’s okay,” she says softly, “We’ll figure it out together.”

He nods against her as she gently rocks him, feeling his tears soak into her blouse.

They stay like that for a while, she isn’t sure how long. It doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that he’s in her arms, and after the tears finally stop flowing, he seems content to stay there.

That is until her treacherous stomach decides that now is the time to remind her that she hasn’t eaten all day… well, not counting the awful vending machine coffee (seriously awful, worse than the ‘ _swill’_ , as Lucifer calls it, at the precinct) and quick fix breakfast bar.

He peers up at her with those soulful brown eyes, guilt creasing his handsome, albeit tired looking face. “I-I’m sorry, I kept you from—”

“Hey,” she takes his face in her hand, gently guiding his downcast gaze towards her, “You didn’t keep me from anything, okay? Why don’t I order in, then we can just chill out and watch some Netflix?”

He nods almost imperceptibly, a sad smile ghosting across his features.

“What do you fancy?” She pulls away from him, leaning over to retrieve her phone from the coffee table and settles back on the sofa, absently tangling her fingers in his hair as he sinks back into her side. “Anything you want. Chinese? Thai? Indian? Your choice.”

“I don’t mind, whatever you want,” he mumbles, to which she can’t help but sigh. They’re still working on him and his inability to put his own _desires_ above hers in the relationship, even after all this time.

“I asked you first, what do you _desire?_ ” she says playfully.

He blinks. She’d say the expression that dawns his face is almost proud. “Indian,” he replies after a moment of thought.

She presses a kiss to his temple, her lips curling into a smile against him and runs her fingers through his hair once more; almost as if she’s silently praising him for choosing. He closes his eyes and shuffles a little closer into her side, like he can’t stand the already miniscule amount of space between them.

They spend the rest of the evening lying on the couch together, a tangled mess of long limbs surrounded by stacks of take out boxes. She’d ordered the usual amount, which by any normal person’s means is a lot of food, but, as she knows all too well by now, Lucifer, despite his lean build, can really put it away. He is one hungry Devil. Celestial metabolism he’d once called it. It certainly explains the high volume of snacks he consumes on a daily basis.

So, when he’d picked at his food, barely eating more than her, she’d been concerned. He seems relaxed now though, his head in her lap, eyes fixed on the screen as she trails lazy patterns across his scalp with her fingers.

She tries to shelve her concerns and lose herself in the program, _Our Planet_ , and soon the soothing tones of David Attenborough’s voice sends her drifting into a peaceful slumber.

~

She wakes to screams. They tear her from her pleasant dreams, jerking her back into reality and immediately setting her brain on high alert, any grogginess from sleep quickly dissipating.

It doesn’t take long for her to see the source of the horrible, tortured cries.

Lucifer is curled up into a ball on the floor, his form bathed in the faint light from the tv screen. His head is in his hands, his nails digging into his scalp with such a force that his fingers are white.

“Lucifer?” she tries.

He doesn’t respond or even acknowledge her as she crouches on the floor next to him. He’s still trapped in whatever flashback haunts him.

Her heart hammers in her chest, not with fear of him, but with fear _for_ him. She wants to reach out and touch him, offer him some kind of comfort, some kind of relief from the waking nightmare that has him in its clutches. She knows that’s not a good idea though after what he’d done to Dan…. No, touching him will only make the situation worse.

Instead, she does her best to soothe him, whispering a string of hopefully comforting words, telling him that he’s safe over and over. Telling him that he’s having a flashback and that what he’s seeing isn’t real. Telling him that she’s here for him.

Eventually a flicker of recognition flits across his face at her voice. He tilts his head to look at her though his eyes are still glassy and unfocused.

“Lucifer.”

He blinks several times. Fear still saturates his features; his breathing still ragged, but he’s here again, slowly becoming more grounded in reality.

“Hey, there you are,” she says softly, finally daring to reach out and touch him. Still, she keeps her movements slow and predictable, making sure that he realises what she’s doing.

Her touch seems to ground him fully. A tiny whimper comes from the back of his throat before he finally says, “Chloe?” in a confused little voice.

She nods, smiling softly despite the way her heart aches for him. “Yeah, It’s me. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“Where…?” he trails off, eyes frantically searching his surroundings.

“You’re at home,” she takes his face in her hand, gently guiding him to look at her. His panicked breathing still hasn’t quite abated. “Can you take a deep breath for me?” She takes a deep, over exaggerated breath in and then slowly releases it, watching as he mimics her. “That’s it, good job.”

He leans into her, burying his face in the crook of her neck and she brings her arms to envelop him, rubbing patterns onto his back and continuing to offer whatever she can to soothe him until his shaking subsides.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she ventures.

He just shakes his head against her in adamant refusal and she doesn’t push. He’ll talk when he’s ready.

They sit there for a while, awkwardly huddled on the floor. Her heart stops racing and his rhythmic, even breaths coupled with his warmth seeping into her skin lulls her into a more relaxed state.

He doesn’t seem to want to move just yet and she’s happy to stay there, with him in her arms, for as long as he needs.

Well… that is until her legs decide to cramp beneath her, protesting being sat on for who knows how long. She hisses as her muscles squeeze painfully, unable to stretch out in her current position.

Lucifer glances up at her, a questioning look in his still fearful brown eyes.

“Cramp,” she explains quickly, to which he makes a little “ah” motion. He’s still trembling slightly, and she’s not sure if it’s because he’s cold or because he’s afraid. A little of both she guesses. “Lu, babe, why don’t we go get in bed, huh? It’ll be warmer, yeah?”

He nods against her, jerkily pulling himself from her grasp. “Okay,” he replies, his voice hoarse.

She rises, offering him her hand which he takes as he pulls himself to his feet. He follows behind her, somehow seeming like a lost puppy despite their fingers being entwined. Once in the bedroom, she quickly changes into her baggy, worn out L.A.P.D. t-shirt and helps him unbutton his shirt as he struggles with shaky fingers.

“Thank you,” he says softly, running his long fingers through her hair as she undoes his belt, “for everything, Chloe.”

Smiling softly, she looks up at him, his eyes seem to sparkle in the low light that fills the room. She presses a hand to his now bare chest and reaches up, standing on her tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Always,” she says as she pulls away, taking his hand once again and leading him over to the bed.

They both slide under the covers, her arms instinctively wrap around him, her head settling against his chest. Slight tremors still shake him. She can feel goose bumps beneath her fingers where they rest upon his back.

“Are you cold?” she whispers.

“A little,” he admits.

She rubs her hands up and down over his back, trying to warm him. “You want extra blankets?”

He shakes his head. “No,” he replies, “I have something better.” He does that funny little rolling motion with his shoulders and she is suddenly cocooned in white.

Glorious, pristine white.

Divine warmth seeps into her bones. She’s suddenly more relaxed than she has been in a long time.

He curls into her, pulling his legs up, his wings surrounding them both. “Is this okay?” he mumbles.

“Perfect,” she answers, eyes already heavy.

She presses her lips to his chest before drifting off.

~

The intrusive, blaring sound of her alarm wakes her. She groans, blindly fumbling to hit the snooze button and rolls over, sinking further into the pillow, intent on just five more minutes of sleep before the day begins. Her hand reaches out to the other side of the bed, searching for her Devil to cuddle, only she doesn’t find him.

Instead she’s met with the cool chill of long unoccupied sheets.

She snaps her eyes open and confirms that he is, in fact, not in bed beside her. Climbing out of bed as fast as her sleep groggy brain will allow, she makes her way downstairs.

She doesn’t find him, not immediately. The back door is slightly ajar letting the cool morning breeze whisk into the house and tickle her bare legs.

The sickly scent of cigarette smoke meets her as she opens the door and looks outside. He’s stood, leaning against the wall, his head tilted backward, his gaze firmly fixed on the early morning sky. Thick tendrils of smoke curl around his nostrils and drift lazily upwards, disappearing into nothing as he exhales, long and deep.

He’s wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and as she wraps her arms around herself, she wonders how long he’s been stood there. He surely must be a little bit cold.

A pile of what looks to be at least half a dozen cigarette butts lay at his feet.

“Hey,” she says softly, unsure of how else to approach him. There’s no telling what sort of mood he could be in so, it’s best to tread lightly at first.

He flinches a little, snapping out of whatever trance he’d been caught in and straightens, pulling away from the wall, his gaze meeting hers. “Good morning,” he replies grimly, another little puff of smoke escaping his lips.

The acrid smell makes her eyes water, but she tries not to let her discomfort show. “I’m making some breakfast, want something?”

“No.” He shakes his head and flicks the rest of his cigarette on the floor to join the rest. It smoulders briefly before dying out.

He turns to follow her back inside and walks around the kitchen to slump down into one of the chairs by the breakfast bar. She briefly glances at him as she works on making a pot of coffee. Dark circles hang below his eyes, too many lines crease his face. His hair is an unruly mess, even more so than just from it being slept on. It sticks up haphazardly at all angles like he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly or pulling on it…. He looks haggard.

She wants to help, but she’s not sure that she can or if he even wants her to.

“Coffee?” she asks instead as she pours herself a mug. “Wait,” he looks up at her from his position slouched over the counter as she quickly backtracks, “is coffee a good idea?”

“Yes. Please,” he answers gruffly, staring up at her with dull, bleary eyes. He huffs scrubbing a hand over his face and adds, “I don’t care if it’s a good idea or not, I need something otherwise I’m going to bloody fall asleep right here.”

She acquiesces, pouring him a mug and slides it over to him, leaning on the counter across from him. “Trouble sleeping, huh?”

He looks into his coffee before looking up to meet her eyes, his dark brown depths seem to plead with her to do something to help him. If only she could figure out what that is.

He nods solemnly.

“Nightmares?” she asks hesitantly, knowing that she’s treading on potentially dangerous ground. It seems as though he’s a minefield that she’s trying to cross with no knowledge of the layout. No matter how hard she tries, it seems inevitable that she’s going to make a mistake; that each step has the potential to end in an explosion.

Wrapping his hand around his mug, he looks down again as if searching for answers in the swirling depths of his coffee. “Not exactly.”

She reaches across the counter, holding her hand against his. He looks up with a surprised little quirk of his brow.

“I just….” He sighs deeply again. “I don’t know. I just can’t sleep.”

“Okay,” she worries her lip between her teeth, “why don’t you go get back in bed for a bit? It’s still pretty early.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure that I even want to,” he swallows hard and squeezes his eyes shut, “because of…” _the nightmares_ , he doesn’t say out loud, but she knows.

Silence lingers between them. She’s not sure what to say. The distinct feeling that she’s about to step on a landmine at any second looms over her. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“ _No_.” He snaps the word with such ferocity that she can’t help but feel a little taken back by it. She knows he’s the Devil and everything he’s capable of, but seeing these little glimpses of it… she’s not sure it’s something she will ever be used to. “No,” he repeats, softer this time. “I don’t. In fact, that’s the last thing I want to do.”

_Okay_. So, not talking about it then. “What are you doing today anyway? Are you coming to work with me or…?” she asks, hoping the change of subject will settle him.

“I have an appointment with Linda,” he responds glumly.

“Oh,” she nods a little too vigorously and tries to cover her brewing anxiety by taking a sip of her coffee, “do you want me to come with you?”

He’s silent for a long moment. “I don’t want to go,” he finally says quietly, as if he’s ashamed of it.

“Oh, Lu,” she rounds the counter and takes his face in her hand guiding him to look at her, “I know this is difficult, but you have to try.”

“I _am_ trying, Chloe.” A distressed noise gurgles from him, not quite a sob, but close. “I am.”

“I know you are,” she strokes her fingers through his hair, “I know. You need to talk to someone though. Please, just go. For me?” A part of her feels awful for using that against him, his willingness to do anything he asks of him, but it’s for the best. It’s for him. It’s what he needs even if it’s difficult for him.

There’s a short silence before he grumbles a little and replies, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” she says softly, stroking her fingers along his cheek. His eyes flutter shut briefly at the motion. “Do you want me to come with you?”

He shakes his head against her palm.

“Okay, that’s okay. I can drop you off and pick you up after if you want?”

His eyes snap open and then narrow suspiciously. “I can drive myself.” He pulls away from her hand, his expression turning distinctly affronted. “I’m not an _invalid_.”

“I know you’re not,” she says quickly, silently berating herself. She should’ve brought this up earlier, but it hadn’t felt like the right moment. There had always been something else happening. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Linda said tha—”

“ _What?”_ he barks out. “ _What_ did Linda say? Hm? That I’m not _capable?_ ” He stands up with such a force that he sends the chair he’d been sitting on toppling over.

She flinches at the sudden mood swing. It’s not his fault. She knows that, but she’d be lying if she said that it didn’t scare her just a little bit. “Lucifer—”

“ _No!”_ he roars. A ragged, distressed noise slips from his lips. “I’m not _broken_ , Chloe. I’m not some _fragile_ thing that’s going to break at any second, so stop treating me like I am!”

“Lucifer,” she sighs, trying desperately to ignore the way her heart pounds hard against her sternum, “That’s not what I meant. I don’t think that. You’re strong and _of course_ you’re capable, but I think until we know more about just how bad it is, you should just be careful, okay?” He seems to deflate at that, staring back at her with fathomless dark eyes. “Until you get the flashbacks under control, driving could be dangerous. Not for you, but for the people around you. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but you wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt, would you?”

He shuffles a bit on the spot before grumbling, “No,” he says with a conceded sigh. His gaze falls to the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout, I just….”

“I know.” She warily steps closer to him. She isn’t about to tell him it’s okay, but she can’t blame him either. “I know,” she repeats, softer this time as she reaches out for him.

He accepts the embrace, leaning into her, the tension flooding from him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again against her hair.

She knows he is. It’s not his fault.

She just needs to do her best to be patient.


	6. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Where I'm broken  
> Down by the people if they let you breathe  
> Hello again! Just a side note here, chapters 5 and 6 were originally one chapter when I originally wrote this, but I ended up splitting it into two due to the legnth. In the end it does work better like this but because of this the feel is very similar to the last chapter. So those asking and hoping for the healing, it is coming! I just ask that you bear with me a little longer! <3
> 
> _"Don't give a damn if you still can't see_  
>  _Still my heart beats, for you_  
>  _Have become, all I love_  
>  _And all I hoped for_  
>  _But I, must carry on_  
>  _Always one_  
>  _Never broken.”_  
>  \- Broken by Jake Bugg

“Lucifer,” Linda greets him at the door to her office with a small smile. “Come in.”

He nods curtly, offering her a small smile in return as he sets himself down on the couch opposite her.

“No Chloe today?” the Doctor asks as she settles with her notebook and flicks a few pages.

Crossing his legs and leaning back, he clears his throat before answering. “No. She’s, ah, working.”

Linda directs her gaze back to him and adjusts her glasses with her forefinger. “If you prefer, we could schedule future appointments at a time more convenient for both of you. In the evening perhaps?”

“That won’t be necessary, Doctor.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “If you change your mind—"

“I won’t,” he replies flippantly. Of course he won’t. He’s not about to burden Chloe with his problems any further than he already has, especially now that he knows that it’s all his own fault. That it’s all just in his head. No. He won’t be wasting anymore of the Detective’s time.

Linda jots something down at the top of her notepad and looks back up to him. “Why do you think that is? In previous sessions you seemed to believe that having Chloe here helped you.”

He uncrosses his legs, shifting slightly forward in his seat. “Well,” he waves a dismissive hand, “the Detective has more pressing matters to attend, rather than to waste her time here, doesn’t she?”

“What gives you the impression that Chloe thinks that being here with you is a waste of time?”

“Well….” He hesitates. “It wasn’t exactly something _she_ did or said....”

“So, _you_ think that this is a waste of time?”

“Well, I…” he falters and shifts uncomfortably. Leaning over, he grabs a glass and fills it with water, more to distract himself than because he’s thirsty, and settles back against the sofa. “I just don’t see how simply _talking_ about my problem is going to make it go away.”

She puts her pen down on the notepad. “I know that this must be difficult for you, but,” she waves her hands, gesturing to him, “finally dealing with all the unresolved trauma that you’ve been through head on is a step in the right direction. A diagnosis is a start, but actually identifying the root of the problem and _talking_ about it is the next step.”

He says nothing, remaining unconvinced.

“All I ask is that you try. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, we can take a break, okay?”

“I….” He huffs. “Yes, alright then. I’ll… _try_.”

She offers him a small smile. “Good. Thank you. So, before we start, I just want to check with you. In cases like this, I would usually refer you to a specialist clinic that deals with PTSD, but given the…” she trails off, searching for the right word, “ _nature_ of your trauma, I think it’s best that we continue here.”

“Hm, yes, I wouldn’t want to break any more poor saps with proof of the divine now, would I? No argument here, Doctor.”

“That’s not—” Linda clears her throat and looks down at the papers in her lap. “Never mind. Let’s start with something simple, do you remember the first time you experienced a flashback?”

He shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. The past few weeks seem to have blurred into one big, indecipherable mess. “I think… it was a couple of weeks ago.” The memory floods back to him, the emotions sitting heavy on his chest. “At a crime scene.” He remembers staring into those lifeless, tortured eyes and seeing himself. Then feeling it all again. “It was the day that Chloe and I came to see you together for the first time I believe.”

“Good.” She makes another note on her pad. “Can you describe what you saw or felt?”

He can. He remembers it all too well. It’s what he feels constantly now. The stifling weight of Hell closing in around him, of ash and fire and brimstone. Of pain and suffering. “I—” he chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of it all hitting him like a tsunami.

“I—” he tries again but can’t find his voice. It’s drowned out by the discordant din of screams filling his ears. He tries to breathe, to slow his suddenly racing heart but the familiar smell of Hell seems to suffocate him, stealing all the air from his lungs.

Panic sets in.

He doesn’t want to go. Not back there.

Not again.

He leaps up from the couch almost automatically. Like he’s neither here nor there but trapped somewhere in between. “I can’t,” he cries out, wildly gasping for breath. “I can’t.”

He vaguely registers Linda standing in front of him, before he’s out the door and running.

~

“Hey Ella,” Chloe greets the Forensic Scientist as she enters the lab, closing the door behind her.

Ella spins on her heel, looking up from her computer screen. Her eyes search the area, quickly glancing beyond the venetian blinds into the bullpen before flickering back to Chloe. “Hey Chloe,” she replies hesitantly, as if she hadn’t expected to see her. Her apprehensiveness and her stiff body language gives Chloe the distinct impression that she’s worried about something, though it isn’t clear what. “No Lucifer today?”

Ah. Of course.

“Nope,” she replies, shaking her head and folding her arms. She briefly wonders if there will ever be a time when all aspects of her private life don’t spread around the precinct like wildfire.

Ella doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare back expectantly with wide eyes, her lips parted slightly.

“He’s at therapy,” she adds.

“Oh!” Ella relaxes visibly, a wide smile spreading across her face as she steps forward and begins to gesticulate wildly. “I heard he was in the hospital and I thought when I didn’t see him that it was true, you know? I didn’t mean to pry. I was just worried about him. He hasn’t seemed himself lately.”

Chloe purses her lips and folds her arms listening to Ella ramble on. No matter where she heard this from, her concern is genuine. As unlikely a pair they make, Lucifer and Ella have become good friends in the past few years. That much was obvious when she took the whole him being the _actual_ Devil thing in her stride. She was really just happy to have him back above all else.

As his friend, she probably deserves to know at least some of the truth.

“He was,” Chloe finally says, interrupting the rambling story that she hadn’t quite been listening to. “In the hospital, I mean.”

Ella’s smile quickly fades. Her features once again become saturated with concern. “What happened? Is he okay?”

Chloe waves her hand, swallows hard and nods a little too much, trying to come off as dismissive and most likely failing spectacularly if the look on Ella’s face is anything to go by. As if seeing him overdose and almost die didn’t scare the absolute shit out of her. As if it didn’t bring back awful memories of him dying in her arms not so long ago. And that isn’t even the least of her worries right now.

Her eyes prickle as she tries desperately to hold back tears.

“Chloe?” Ella touches her arm, guiding her to a seat by the counter.

She worries her lip between her teeth as she takes the offered seat. “It was an accident and he’s fine— _Well_ , he’s not _fine_ , exactly. He—” She takes a breath, shaking her head. “It all feels so complicated, Ella. I just… I want things to be okay and I’m not sure if they are or if they ever will be. I mean we were supposed to be getting _married,_ and now I don’t even know if that’s what he wants because I was an _idiot._ I kicked him out when he was hurting, and I feel awful about that. I am here for him and I always will be, but still I feel terrible because I know, deep down, that if it came to it, I would make the same choice again. I really do love him, but I _have_ to think of my daughter. If I thought for one second that he was going to do something that put her in danger…” she trails off, sighing. “She’s always going to be my priority no matter what. Does that make me a horrible person?”

“No!” Ella exclaims, shaking her head, seemingly brushing off whatever confusion she feels about the unexpected rant. “No, of course not!”

She scrubs a hand over her face. “I’m so sorry, Ella. I didn’t mean to… _unload_ on you like that. I just…” she shakes her head, “I just haven’t really had anyone to talk to except Linda, and her focus is so much on Lucifer that I just… haven’t had a chance to vent, you know?”

“Don’t apologise! Seriously, I don’t know what you’re going through, but I’m always here to listen, Chloe.” Then she adds with a little smile, “That’s what tribe sisters do, right?”

Returning the smile through watery eyes, she replies, “Thanks, Ella. Really. It means a lot.”

“Hey, why don’t we go and get a coffee and you can talk as much as you want, yeah?” Ella suggests.

She knows that it’s Lucifer’s thing and she feels bad talking about it without him here, but she really does feel like she might explode if she doesn’t talk to _someone_.

“Yeah,” she bites her lip, nodding, “that’d be good, thank you.”

She starts at the beginning with the small things, him being irritable and not sleeping, the arguments and the anger and eventually tells Ella what had really been going on. It feels good to get it out. To have someone who just listens and understands.

“So, he has like, full blown PTSD?” she asks when Chloe tells her about the hospital, and what he’d said to her and Linda.

She wraps her hands around her coffee cup, feeling the heat seep into her skin. “Yeah and I didn’t even realise, you know. I hadn’t even thought that it was possible for him. The minute we started fighting I just assumed that he’d finally lost interest in me like I always worried he would. I keep telling myself that I should’ve figured it out…. What kind of detective am I if I can’t even see that?”

Ella reaches across the small table and places her hand on Chloe’s arm. “You can’t think like that, it’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself. We all saw what he was like, Chlo, and none of us put it together.” She shrugs and adds with a grimace, “It does explain why he freaked out at that crime scene the other week, and why he went all kung fu on Dan’s face and the bathroom wall though.” She pauses and takes a sip of her coffee. “So, how’s he doing now that he’s home and he’s had a bit of time to process everything?”

She shakes her head. “I really don’t know. I think he’s struggling with it. He just seems so… _on edge_ all the time. He doesn’t want to talk about anything with me and that’s hard, but I’m trying to be there for him the best I can.”

“Poor guy…. At least he’s got Linda though, right? She must be really good. I mean, therapist to the Devil himself. _Sheesh._ That’s gotta be tough.”

“Yeah,” she absently nods, staring off into the distance. “She’s really good with him. He’s grown so much over the years.” She brings her cup up to her lips and tips it, draining the remaining contents. “Anyway, I really should be getting back. I need to go and pick him up. Thanks for this though, Ella, it’s been great having someone to talk to.”

“Awr, anytime. You know if you need anything, I’m always here for you right?” She stands and spreads her arms wide, waggling her fingers. “Bring it in, girl.”

For the first time in what feels like too long, Chloe finds herself smiling widely as her friend engulfs her in a hug.

When she makes her way back to her desk to retrieve her things, the sight of Lucifer through the plexiglass dividers sat at her desk has her stopping in her tracks on the stairs. She quickly checks the time on her phone. He shouldn’t even be done with Linda yet, never mind be here already.

She hops down the rest of the steps and makes her way over to him. He’s just sat there, staring down at his shoes completely still. “Lucifer?”

He seems to jar into life, turning to look at her.

“What are you doing here? I was about to come and pick you up.” She lays a hand on his shoulder, her worried gaze searching him.

His hair is no longer the perfectly styled masterpiece that it had been this morning when she’d dropped him off at Linda’s office. Unruly strands stick out here and there like he’s been running his hands through it once again.

He shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. “I… um, left early.”

“Lucifer,” she sighs, “I thought—”

She’s cut off by the phone on her desk ringing and can’t help but roll her eyes at the untimely interruption. “Hang on.”

He sits with his hands folded neatly in his lap, his gaze downcast as she talks on the phone with Detective Ross down in Vice. He asks her if she can bring him the case files and go over the details of a case that had come her way after they’d found a suspected link to one of Vice’s ongoing investigations.

“Right, yeah. I’ll be right there,” she tells Ross before putting the phone down and turning back to Lucifer. “We _are_ going to talk about this later, alright? I’ll be back soon.”

He nods meekly. It makes her heart ache to see him so subdued.

Scooping up the case files from her desk, she gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and adds with a fond little smile, “Stay out of trouble.”

She returns almost an hour later, having been kept for far longer than she would’ve liked by the apparently overly chatty Detective Ross.

Lucifer still sits in the same spot by her desk except Dan is now looming over him. Even from across the bullpen she can see the red tint to her ex’s face and his confrontational stance. It’s what she expects now honestly. Dan and Lucifer have had a… _rocky_ relationship to say the least. Just when she thinks they might be putting their differences aside and actually being friendly with one another something happens that throws a spanner in the works.

It would seem that Dan still hasn’t quite gotten over Lucifer punching him at the barbeque. Not that she blames him. No one could have possibly known what was brewing in Lucifer’s mind.

As she approaches the pair though, she sees that this isn’t the usual playful, teetering on bitter, bickering. No.

From where she stands it appears that Dan is kicking Lucifer while he’s down and Lucifer is just sat there, taking it with a dejected look on his face, offering no rebuttal or witty banter in return.

“— What are you even doing here? You just _hurt_ everyone around you, can’t you see that?” Dan snaps viciously, the veins in his neck bulging as he strains to hold back his anger.

“Hey!” Chloe interrupts, grabbing Dan harshly by the arm, making no effort to be careful as she drags him away towards the interrogation room. “With me. Now.”

She pushes him into the room and follows closely behind, slamming the door and whirls on him.

“Look, Dan.” She tries to keep the annoyance at her ex out of her voice; tries to pretend that the way he’s treating Lucifer doesn’t make her blood boil, but finds that she can’t. “You need to give Lucifer a break. Just _stop_ with this vendetta against him.”

Dan’s lip twitches into the bitter, twisted ghost of a smile. “Why should I, Chlo? Hm?” He throws his hands out to his side. “I don’t know what you see in him. I really don’t.”

“I _love_ him.”

“He’s the _Devil_ ,” Dan snaps, “And you know, for a moment I thought that maybe he’s not actually all bad, but,” he shakes his head, huffing out a breath, “he is. He’s _dangerous_.”

She shakes her head, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Of course this would come up now. “He isn’t, he just—”

“ _What?_ He just what, Chloe? He just hit me for no reason? He just constantly puts you and _our daughter_ in danger with his _recklessness?_ ” He scoffs. “I know I can’t control who you’re with, but I don’t want him around Trixie. I think she should come and live with me.”

“No.” She crosses her arms in front of her, shaking her head vehemently. “Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen. I know you’re upset about him hitting you, Dan, but he does feel awful about it.”

Dan scoffs.

“He’s been going through some stuff lately. He really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“’Some _stuff’?”_ he asks incredulously. “Seriously? That supposed to make me feel sorry for him or something? Lucifer is always going through ‘ _some stuff’_ Chloe, that doesn’t give him the right—”

“He has PTSD, Dan.”

Dan deflates at that, all his anger quickly draining, leaving him looking dazed. “What?”

She shakes her head. She hadn’t wanted to tell him, but it hadn’t seemed right to keep him in the dark, especially when he’s concerned about Trixie’s well-being. “Yeah. He’s not… good at the moment.”

“Chlo, I’m sorry, I didn’t know…. So, when he hit me it was because he was… _what_? Having a…” he gestures vaguely in the air, grimacing slightly as he struggles to find the right words.

“A flashback, yes. Or at least I think so.” She sighs, still trying to figure out what exactly had happened. Lucifer’s limited explanation when she’d asked about it hadn’t been too helpful. “He doesn’t seem to be able to recall exactly what happened, so we don’t think he was fully present. When you touched him… I guess it scared him and he just… _reacted.”_

Dan scrubs a hand over his face and then pauses, holding his jaw in his hand. “Damn,” he says slowly. “You didn’t know then?”

“No. I don’t think he did either.” She pauses. Dan doesn’t say anything, his jaw flickering as he clenches his teeth. “I’d appreciate it if you’d just… lay off him a bit,” she continues after a short moment of uneasy silence. “I’m worried about him, he hasn’t been sleeping, he’s barely eating, and I know you’re angry with him, but it’s really not making things any easier.”

“I….” He nods. “Yeah, of course. I just….” He lets out a resigned breath. “Look, I hate to say this Chloe, but I just need to know. Is Trixie safe with him? Are _you_ safe with him?”

She smiles a little at his concern. The protective instinct that he’s always had for her even since the divorce. “Yeah, we’re good Dan. I promise. I wouldn’t put Trixie in any danger.”

“Okay.” He takes a breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I feel like I should’ve seen it, you know?” He shakes his head. “I was just so blinded by my anger….”

“Hey, none of us saw it. You can’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault, or anyone else’s.”

His jaw tenses. He folds his arms tightly against himself and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Chlo,” is all he says before swiftly leaving the interrogation room.

She takes a few moments to herself, turning over the conversation in her mind. Lucifer isn’t dangerous, is he?

He’s the Devil but he’s never hurt her or Trixie. The exact opposite in fact. He’s risked himself to protect them more times than she can count.

The incident with Dan had been isolated. Linda hadn’t been worried about it happening again at least. She’d warned against touching him without his permission whilst he’s in the midst of a flashback, but aside from that….

She really should talk to Trixie about everything though, just in case.

Sighing, she leaves the conference room and returns to her desk. She stops short of her seat, frowning. Lucifer is still sat in the same place, although now he’s holding two of Dan’s puddings and a spoon and looking rather confused about it.

“Lucifer?”

He snaps his head up to look at her like he hadn’t heard her approach.

“Did you steal Dan’s pudding again?” she asks, not believing that he would do something so obviously intended to wind Dan up further after what’d just happened. 

The creases in his face deepen as he tilts his head to one side, looking very much like a perplexed little puppy trying to comprehend why its human is mad at it. “No…” he replies slowly.

She arches an eyebrow.

“Daniel gave these to me.” The expression that dawns his face may as well have been as a result of someone proving that unicorns are real. “He… _apologised.” He_ so obviously can’t believe it, and yet the solid evidence in his hands proves otherwise.

He looks up at her and she can’t help but giggle. With his messy hair and his confused expression, he just looks so adorable.

“Why…?” he asks, his frown deepening. “Why would he do that?”

She shrugs, taking her seat. “I think he just realised that he’s been unfairly harsh on you lately.”

“But I….” He trails into silence. She can see the wheels turning in his head and wonders what is going on in that mind of his. Whatever it is, she’s sure that it isn’t good.

All she can do though, is wait for him to talk about it, so she smiles softly at him, reaches across the table and gives his hand a light squeeze.

She manages to get a surprising amount of work done without the usual distractions that Lucifer provides, although that in itself is a painful reminder of what’s going on. Of everything he’s going through.

The fact that he’s acting so different just… _hurts_. She just misses him.

Misses his childish antics and witty quips.

He’s sat right next to her and she misses him. How foolish that seems. The world just seems that much darker without his beaming smile and his simple _joie de vivre_ to illuminate it.

She sighs, shuffling the last of her paperwork away into a tidy pile and retrieving her coat and bag. “Come on,” she tells him softly, snapping him out of whatever daydream-like state he’d been captured in. “I’m picking Trix up from school.”

He follows behind her to the car without a word and slips inside just as silently. Not even the idle chatter on the radio seems to help make a dint in the endless void of silence that lingers between them.

“Lucifer,” she says softly. He doesn’t move from his position resting against the window. “We need to talk.”

He sighs heavily and straightens in his seat. “About?”

“Why did you leave therapy early?” she asks simply, and maybe a little too sharply.

“I…” he trails off, falling into a familiar pattern of silence and scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair, further dishevelling the already unruly mess.

She waits patiently for him to continue, focusing on manoeuvring through the streets of L.A. She can almost feel him thinking as he shifts slightly and fiddles with the ring on his finger, twisting it around and tracing the onyx stone.

“I just… I don’t want to talk about it,” he says finally.

They pull to a stop at a red light and she turns to him. “Lucifer, I know this must be difficult, but you can talk to me. We can’t just keep going around in circles like this.” She reaches over the gear stick to touch his hand, stilling his nervous fingers.

“No, I don’t mean—” He sighs again and shakes his head, struggling with whatever he’s trying to say. She squeezes his hand tighter before regrettably letting go to change gear as the light flickers to amber. “That’s why I left I mean.” He closes his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply. “We started talking about the— _my_ … flashbacks and I… I just, I don’t know. I just couldn’t do it.”

She regrets starting this conversation in the car. He clearly requires— _deserves_ more than her divided attention.

“I couldn’t do it, so I left.”

“Okay. That’s okay,” she says, quickly and carefully. It’s not ideal that he left when he desperately needs the help, but he’s trying, and she can’t be mad at him for it. “You tried, that’s what matters.” She smiles and reaches her hand across to take his once again. “Maybe tomorrow will be easier.”

He hums and she gets the feeling that he doesn’t think it will be.

They don’t talk much more after that. They pick Trixie up from school and her rambling chatter almost succeeds in filling the endless void of silence between the two of them.

She tells them about all the fun things she’d done with Dan, and about her science project at school. It all feels pretty normal for a while until she asks the question that Chloe had been dreading.

“What were you guys doing anyway? Dad got all nervous when I asked him.”

“I… uh,” Chloe starts, knowing that this isn’t the best place to talk about it, especially in front of an already upset Lucifer. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? Do you want to watch a movie after you’ve done your homework tonight?” She hopes that with the change of topic Trixie doesn’t dwell on her unanswered question.

“Can we watch _Frozen?”_ she asks in delight.

Lucifer grumbles unhappily beside her. It’s only about the fiftieth time that they’ve watched it.

“Sure baby,” she answers, squeezing Lucifer’s hand and laughing a little bit.

When they get in the door, Trixie rushes straight into her room, presumably to start on her homework. Lucifer lingers by the breakfast bar looking weary and a little bit lost.

She comes up behind him, wrapping her arms loosely around his middle and pressing her head against his shoulder. “Hey, you doing okay?”

He turns in her embrace to face her and wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer. She savours his closeness, his warmth. Her head rests against his chest and he hums a low rumble that she feels more than hears. “A bit tired, Love, nothing to be concerned about.”

“I know, but I am anyway.” She runs her hand up his back, her fingers settling at the nape of his neck. “Why don’t you go lie down? I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

He pulls away slightly, their arms still wrapped around each other, and raises an eyebrow at her in a weak effort to protest.

“It’s okay to not be okay, you know? I’m not going to think any less of you for admitting that.” She pauses, caressing his cheek with her palm, her fingers rasping against his stubble. He leans into it, his eyes fluttering closed. “You’re not weak for feeling tired. You’re going through a lot. It’s understandable.”

He nods wordlessly against her hand.

“Alright, go on. I’ll call you in a bit.” She leans up on her tiptoes and presses a gentle kiss to his lips.

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes betray the sadness that lurks below the surface.

She sighs as she watches him trudge up the stairs and mentally prepares herself for her next task as she turns towards Trixie’s room.

“Trixie, babe?” she leans against the doorway to her room, watching as she empties the content of her backpack onto the bed and picks up a piece of paper.

“Yeah Mom?” she replies, turning to face her with the paper clutched in her hand.

Chloe takes a step into the room, smiling fondly at the alien drawings that still litter the walls and the plush toys that cover a good portion of the bed. Her little girl is growing up fast, but she hasn’t yet lost her child-like innocence and imagination. She hopes it lasts as long as possible. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.” She sets herself down on the edge of the bed and pushes the pile of stationery and homework aside to make room for Trixie.

“Come here.” She pats the space beside her.

A worried look dawns her daughter’s face as she moves to sit next to her. She looks down at her feet as Chloe wraps her arm around her little body, pulling her into her side.

“Is this about you and Lucifer?” she asks in a small voice, shuffling her sneakered feet together. “You’ve been arguing a lot lately, and Dad said that…” she sniffles a little, “he said that Lucifer’s no good and that you’re going to break up.”

She pulls her daughter tighter into her side, rubbing her hand along her back in a soothing pattern. “No baby, we’re not breaking up. Your dad was mad at Lucifer and he shouldn’t have said those things to you.” She silently fumes at the fact that Dan would say something like that to Trixie.

“Really?” she asks, her little face lighting up with hope.

“Really.” She smiles back at her and presses a kiss to her head. “You’re right though, we have been arguing a lot recently and I’m sorry for that.” She strokes a hand through her daughter’s dark hair. “We shouldn’t have put you in the middle. There’s no excuse for that.” She pauses, wondering how exactly to phrase the next part.

“But?” Trixie says when she doesn’t continue.

“But there is something I need to tell you, and it might be difficult for you to understand. You’ll probably have a lot of questions, which is okay.”

Trixie nods, her little face creasing.

“I don’t want you to worry, baby, but you asked what Lucifer and I were doing while you were at your dad’s. We didn’t tell you straight away because we didn’t want to scare you, but you’re old enough to know the truth; you deserve the truth.”

Her dark brown eyes widen a fraction more with each word. The concerned creases in her face deepening evermore.

“Lucifer was in the hospital, but he’s okay,” she quickly reassures, not wanting to scare her.

Trixie’s mouth falls open, her lip trembling slightly and her eyes glistening.

“He…” she tries to think of the best way to put it that Trixie will understand. “He’s sick, baby, in here,” she taps her temple. “His brain isn’t working right and it’s making him act differently.”

“Is that why he’s so sad, Mommy?”

“Yeah, exactly, Monkey. It can make him sad or angry and he can’t help it, even if he doesn’t want to feel like that.”

Trixie swallows hard, her gaze falling to the carpet. “He’s going to be okay though, right?”

“Yeah,” she says softly, in the most reassuring tone that she can manage. “Yeah, he’s okay. He just needs some time. You just need to understand that if he’s mad or upset, it’s not because of you. I know it’s difficult, but try not to be upset with him and give him some space.”

“Can I still talk to him?”

“Yeah, of course you can. Nothing’s really changed, he’s still here and we can still do things together. We just need to be a little bit more careful with him, that’s all. Sometimes he needs space and sometimes he needs extra love, you just need to ask him first, okay baby?”

Trixie nods, silently digesting the information. “Can I still give him hugs?”

She smiles at her daughter, recalling fondly Lucifer’s distaste for ‘ _embraces from sticky fingered urchins’_. “You need to ask him if it’s okay first, but yeah. You can give him hugs. I actually think he could use a few more hugs right now.”

They share a small laugh. Trixie leans into her more heavily now.

She presses a kiss to the top of her head. “You can always come to me or Lucifer if you have any questions or even if you just want to talk, okay? Promise me you will.”

“I promise, Mommy.”

“Do you have any questions right now?”

She shakes her little head against her.

“Okay. How about you make a start on your homework and I’ll make some dinner. Mac and cheese sound good?”

Trixie nods vigorously and pulls away from her going to make a start on her homework.

That had gone better than expected. Her little girl is really growing up more quickly than she’d realised.

Lucifer sluggishly comes down the steps, rubbing at his eyes as he glances around blearily.

“Hey,” she greets him with a smile. “Sleep okay?”

He stifles a yawn with his fist. “Not bad actually.” He returns her smile and it warms her heart. She honestly can’t remember the last time he’d smiled at her so genuinely.

“Good.”

Trixie stares up at them from her place sat on the floor at the coffee table and jumps to her feet, rushing over to Lucifer like she intends to fling herself at him.

Chloe’s heart goes into her mouth as impending disaster flashes through her mind’s eye.

Lucifer spots her coming and tenses up, raising his hands slightly and closing his eyes, bracing himself for the incoming hug.

Only it doesn’t come.

Trixie stops short and peers up at him. After a moment he cracks an eye open, wondering why he’s not being hugged to death, and his face creases with confusion when he sees her just stood there. “Spawn,” he says, cocking his head. “What is it?” he asks when she doesn’t respond straight away.

“Do you need a hug?” she asks innocently. “Mom said you’re not well and you might need lots of hugs, but I should ask you first.”

He looks to Chloe, raising one quizzical eyebrow at her. She can’t help but laugh a little bit.

He looks a bit shell shocked by the question and she decides to have mercy on him. “Baby, not now okay? Give Lucifer some space.”

“No,” Lucifer says suddenly. “No, it’s okay. I think a hug would be… _acceptable._ ” He clears his throat, stiffening only slightly when she squeals and flings her little arms around his middle.

He pats her head and smiles awkwardly.

Chloe sighs, smiling at the sight. She thinks they are going to be okay.

At least that’s what she thinks whilst they sit and eat and watch a movie together. They even sing along with some of the songs, and it only takes a few playful jabs to get Lucifer to join in, even if he is mildly disgruntled about having to watch the movie again.

Deep down she thinks he secretly loves it.

It’s much later when she starts to doubt herself once again. When Trixie’s gone to bed and he sits on the end of their bed with his head in his hands.

She sits down next to him, placing her hand on his back. “I know you’re probably sick of me asking, but…” she grimaces slightly and then continues, “are you okay?”

He shakes his head in resignation. “You know what you said earlier about not being okay, did you mean it?”

“Of course I did, I’ll never lie to you.”

“Okay.” He nods slowly, his jaw tensing as he exhales a shaky breath through his nose like he’s building up the confidence to say what he wants to say. “I’m not okay.” He turns to her with pleading eyes, begging her to understand. “I think I _am_ …” he swallows hard and a pained expression flickers across his features, “ _broken_.”

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips. He holds his forehead in his hand and rests his elbow on his knee, squeezing his head as though that might somehow ease the undoubted whirlwind of emotions that swirls in his brain. “I don’t know how to fix myself.”

She takes his free hand in both of hers, desperately trying to think of words to comfort him and ignore the soul crushing sadness that overwhelms her just seeing him like this. “You’re not broken, Lucifer. You’re just… hurting, that’s all. It’ll get better.”

“How do you know that?” He pulls away from her suddenly, his face morphing into distress. “Hm? How do you know that this isn’t it? What if I _can’t_ fix it?” He jumps to his feet and paces the small space in between the bed and the bathroom. “There are _no_ loopholes, Chloe.”

She frowns as she watches him almost wearing a hole in the carpet with his erratic movements.

“Don’t you see?” He stops briefly, looking at her like she should understand the connection he’s making but finds that she can’t. “I can’t escape it. My Father can’t keep me in Hell, so he’s made my life Hell instead!” He laughs, a bitter, unhappy sound. “It’s following me.”

He runs a hand through his hair. His breathing becoming more and more ragged, his movements more fitful. She rises from the bed and holds her hands out placatingly, her worry for him growing with each second, adding to the already insurmountable pile.

“I can’t escape it,” he says, shaking his head rapidly, looking extremely paranoid. A hysterical little laugh escapes his lips. “I can’t.” He starts clutching at his chest, his breaths coming short and fast. He blindly reaches a hand out searching for the wall for support and very almost collapses against it.

She rushes to his side, keeping her hands off him, but staying close enough that he knows she’s there. “Lucifer,” she says as calmly as she can, “you’re having a panic attack. I need you to take a deep breath for me.”

Her heart pounds hard against her sternum. She clenches her sweaty hands into fists to attempt to still the uncontrollable shaking that suddenly hits her.

Tremors shake his entire body as he slides down the wall, landing on the floor in a heap. He manages a few deeper, albeit shaky, breaths, gradually calming himself with her help.

“You’re okay,” she reassures.

He gulps, nodding at her words.

She holds her arms out, gesturing to hug him but not following through, giving him the choice to do so. He immediately leans into it, melting into her, resting his head on her shoulder.

The position is uncomfortable, he’s somehow crumpled into a little pile with his legs folded underneath him and she’s on her knees beside him.

After a while she feels the tension draining out of him, his breathing evening out.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into her shirt.

“Hey,” she says softly, tangling her fingers in his dark hair, “there’s nothing to apologise for.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” she insists, quickly cutting off his response. “Lucifer, you’re not broken. You’re ill and you’ll get better. I know it’s hard now, but it’ll take time. I’ll be here for you every step of the way, yeah? Even if you don’t want to talk or just feel like crying,” she rakes her fingers through his hair, softly trailing her nails against his scalp, “that’s okay. Whatever you feel like you need to get better.”

She feels him nod against her. “Chloe…” he whispers, barely audible, “I’m scared. I feel like I’m losing myself and I don’t want to.” She feels wet against her shoulder as a soft little sob escapes him. “I don’t want to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere, okay? I won’t let you.”

He just holds on to her tighter.

He doesn’t want to go to therapy the next day, or the day after that. He tells her that he can’t handle it right now, that he just wants to stay at home. She doesn’t push him, but it’s hard, seeing him suffering and getting no help other than whatever she can offer him.

It’s hard on them. On _both_ of them.

It’s hard when he cries. When he wakes up from barely an hour of fitful sleep, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, with fear in those eyes that just begs her to make it stop.

She can’t make it stop though.

Sometimes she can’t even offer comfort. She just has to watch as he slowly loses himself, as his nightmares follow him from his sleep. As he re-lives unspeakable horrors, the likes of which she can’t even begin to imagine.

As the visions subside, she pulls him into her, holding him close as he sobs. Gently rocking him. Whispering any reassurances she can muster in his ear to let him know that he’s okay. That he’s _safe._

It’s harder though, when he doesn’t cry. When she has to watch the man she loves stare blankly back at her. When everything that he’s going through is too much for him to handle so he just stops. Stops being… _him._

Those nights are the hardest. They’re the ones where she feels alone again. Where it feels like the only option is to give up.

But, she doesn’t. She doesn’t because she loves him and if she feels alone, she can’t even begin to comprehend what he must be feeling.

The first few weeks are like that. Meandering dangerously on a thin line between hope and hopelessness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Healing and fluff and stuff is coming soon! I promise <3


	7. Mad World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“And I find it kind of funny_  
>  _I find it kind of sad_  
>  _The dreams in which I'm dying_  
>  _Are the best I've ever had_  
>  _I find it hard to tell you_  
>  _Cause I find it hard to take.”_  
>  \- Mad World by Tears for Fears (but I much prefer the cover by Gary Jules) 
> 
> And also you can find the cover of Mad World that I imagined Lucifer was playing on the piano [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/6eIFqQV6oUljkDk3wbucwl?si=VUv61ELwSXmyj1DOagCadg)

“I just don’t know what to do with him, Linda.” Chloe sighs, leaning back and sinking into the cushions of her friend’s couch. “He just doesn’t want to do anything. He’s barely sleeping, barely eating. He doesn’t leave the house except to smoke, which he’s doing _a lot_ of.” She shrugs, shaking her head. “I want to help him, but he doesn’t really want to talk about it. I asked him to come and see you and he still says he doesn’t want to.”

Linda chews thoughtfully on her salad before responding, “I know this must be difficult for both of you, Chloe, and I know that you want him to return to therapy, but we can’t force him to do something that he doesn’t want to do.” She pauses, looking at Chloe with an expression that clearly shows she’s choosing her words carefully, lest she cross some sort of confidentiality line. “In the past, Lucifer hasn’t been known to cope well when it comes to facing his... issues head on. He just needs time to process it all.”

Chloe worries her bottom lip between her teeth, exhaling sharply. “I know, I know. I just…” she sighs heavily. She wants to feel like she isn’t completely useless, like she can do something that might actually help him instead of standing by watching like an outsider as he suffers. “I want to be able to help and it’s frustrating that I feel like I can’t.”

“You _are_ helping just by being there for him.”

“I know but I feel like I could be doing _more!”_ She hadn’t meant to shout, it’s just all so… frustrating. Feeling so useless. She _hates_ it. Every problem in her life has always had some way to fight against it, some way for her to _make_ it better. Only she doesn’t think she can make this better; not like she had so innocently believed in the beginning. And that hurts her to her very core. She’s trying, she really is, but this isn’t something she can fix just like that. It’s not like she thought this was going to be _easy_ , she just didn’t think it would be this _hard_. 

Sometimes it feels like staying hopeful is an insurmountable task. 

She has to try though. For both their sakes. 

Linda tilts her head to one side, rolls her jaw and taps her fork against the plastic container that sits in front of her. “Well…” she says slowly, “there are some things that you could try, and I don’t suppose there’s any harm in me giving you some advice….”

Chloe perks up. Given the Doctor’s tone, she guesses that maybe this isn’t exactly the picture of good ethics, but _hell_ , when has this little arrangement ever been ethical? Her partner’s therapist being her good friend, the fact that Lucifer and Linda used to sleep together and not to mention all the crazy, more often than not celestial, shenanigans they’ve gotten into over the years. “Yes! Please! Anything that might help him, Linda.”

“Alright.” She sets her fork down and adjusts her glasses, almost as if shifting from her friend into the professionalism of a therapist. “You said he hasn’t been sleeping?”

Chloe shakes her head and feels her heart squeeze painfully as she recalls all the nights over the past couple of weeks that he’d been torn from sleep by nightmares. “No, not really. He has trouble falling asleep and then even when he does, he sleeps for maybe an hour, hour and a half before the…” she swallows hard, “nightmares wake him. I think he’s… _scared_ to go to sleep, but he’s so tired….”

“Okay.” Linda hums. “There are a few things that have proven helpful to others. It may sound silly but try getting a weighted blanket, they can help to reduce anxiety and stress levels which may help him fall asleep.”

She nods, eagerly soaking up the advice, fishing in her pocket for her phone to make notes.

“And temperature, try to make sure you keep the room cool. Increased temperatures are linked with disturbed sleep patterns.” She pauses. “This one may be difficult, but try and have him cut out caffeine and alcohol,” she tilts her head to the side before adding, “and at least cut back on the excessive smoking.”

Right. She has no idea how to make him do that. The alcohol hasn’t been so bad, not since the incident with the drugs that landed him in hospital, but he’s been drinking coffee and smoking like his life depends on it. She knew it probably wasn't a good idea, but she hadn’t the heart to tell him no when it seemed like they were the only things he wanted.

“You said as well that he hasn’t been leaving the house?” Linda asks.

“Yeah. It didn’t seem like a big deal at first, you know? I asked him if he wanted to come to work and he said he just wanted to stay at home. Then he didn’t want to come the next day or the next. And before I knew it, he wasn’t leaving at all. I tried to get him to come out with me on errands a few times, but he just gets so skittish and sort of retreats into himself. The last time I asked he had a panic attack…. I stopped asking after that.”

Linda hums. “Panic attacks… have they been common?”

Chloe pinches the bridge of her nose, shifting in her seat. “A few times.” She sighs. Most of the time when he's had one, there hasn’t seemed to be any obvious trigger. In fact, they’d mostly happened when she’d least expected them, when he seemed like he was doing okay. They serve as a painful reminder to her that she actually has no idea what’s going on in that head of his. “They’re unpredictable. One minute he seems fine and the next thing I know he’s…” she trails off, waving her hand in the air as she searches for the right way to describe what happens to him, “lost to me _.”_

“For this sort of thing I would usually suggest attempting some sort of daily meditation, but this _is_ Lucifer we’re talking about. You could try, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sit still for any extended amount of time, so that could be tricky.”

Chloe nods in agreement before responding, “Yeah, he’s always been… easily distracted.”

Linda grimaces slightly. “Definitely. Perhaps you could try some stress toys? Having something to focus on might help to ground him and reduce his anxiety. And maybe something small enough to keep with him if you do go out. If you wanted to consider something bigger, more long term perhaps look into service animals? Cats can be quite effective companions for PTSD sufferers; dogs have been known to be as well, but obviously require a lot more responsibility.”

Chloe can’t help but laugh at the suggestion. Just the thought of Lucifer with a cat is hilarious. He’s never been quiet about his distaste for the animals in the past. “I don’t think he’d go for that, plus the apartment lease doesn’t allow for pets.”

“The landlord has to be considerate of the need for service animals and would likely allow it if you asked,” Linda counters.

She hums in return, considering the possibility. Trixie would love a cat and if it helps Lucifer…. “I’ll think about it.”

Linda smiles before continuing. “These are small steps, I know, but reducing his anxiety is an important prerequisite to taking bigger steps like getting him to go out again. See if you can wait until he’s had at least some sleep and then try taking him somewhere he feels safe, like the penthouse for example. It’s a space he’s familiar with and he has his piano there. Playing has always been a sort of therapy for him.”

“Yeah, it has,” she agrees. Music always does seem to provide a kind of release for him, the tunes he plucks from the instrument a reflection of his mood. It’s a good idea. One she somehow hadn’t thought of amidst everything that’s been going on. Talking with Linda has really helped get her thoughts in order and for the first time in a while she feels hopeful again. “Thank you, Linda. Really. This has helped so much. I really should get going though,” Chloe says, looking at her watch.

She offers her friend a smile as she rises from the couch.

“Chloe wait,” Linda halts her before she can say goodbye. “Before you go, how are _you_ doing? This entire time we’ve been talking about Lucifer, you’ve barely spoken about yourself.”

“I…” she trails off, frowning. With everything that’s been going on she hasn’t really taken much time to think about herself, though the talks over coffee with Ella have helped. “I’m okay,” she nods, not sitting back down, “I mean, it’s tough and I worry about him a lot, but I’m fine really.”

“Good,” the Doctor replies with a small smile. “That’s good. If you feel like it’d be helpful to talk to someone in a more professional capacity, I’d always be happy to refer you.”

Chloe pauses, thinking about it for a moment. Seeing a therapist? No, she doesn’t need that does she? She’s fine, really. “No.” She shakes her head. “No thank you, I’m good, Linda. Really.” She jerkily points towards the door. “I really do need to go. It was great seeing you, thank you so much for your advice.”

Linda smiles and nods as she rises from her chair. “Not at all Chloe, anytime.”

They exchange a glance as she leaves the office and Chloe can’t shake the feeling that Linda is concerned about her. It’s unnecessary, really. She gets that as her friend, Linda is going to worry about her and she appreciates that, but she’s fine on her own. She’s always dealt with things in her own way and this is no exception. Having Linda to talk to is really helpful and she couldn’t be more grateful, but the idea of going to _actual_ therapy herself. What would she even say? 

No, she’s doing okay as she is, for now at least. And it warms her heart to know that if ever she can no longer cope on her own then she has somewhere to turn.

For now though, she shakes the thought. She has errands to run, and she doesn’t want to be away from home for too long if she can help it. 

~

“Lucifer,” she calls as she pushes the door open with her shoulder, her arms currently occupied with grocery bags, “I’m home.” She drops the plastic bags that hang from her fingertips beside the door, freeing herself up a bit more to move around.

At first, she’s greeted by silence. Trixie is at Dan’s as their arrangement has been for the last few weeks; Dan having her three nights a week and alternating weekends. It’s given Chloe and Lucifer a little more space to work through things and keep her daughter out of the crossfire as much as possible without uprooting her from her home too much.

She and Dan had decided that at around the same time Chloe had realised that Lucifer wasn’t going to be coming back to work any time soon and she had requested desk duty indefinitely. The lieutenant had been agreeable to allowing her to do the majority of her work from home given the circumstances and so it meant that she only had to go to the precinct a few times a week.

It made her feel better that she wasn’t having to leave Lucifer alone for the whole day and that she was close by if he needed her. The first week after he’d stopped going to therapy, she’d gone to work and one day had returned home only to find him huddled in a ball on the kitchen floor having had a panic attack and not been able to calm himself down. That’d made her see that she couldn’t just carry on like nothing had changed any longer.

She doesn’t really mind it though. It’s not like work at the precinct is the same without him anyway and she gets to spend more time with both him and Trixie as a result.

“Lucifer?” she calls again as she dumps the rest of the bags on the kitchen counter, glancing around the living room but not seeing him.

She notices the back door is open and figures he must be outside, probably smoking. She braces herself for the sickly scent of cigarette smoke to overwhelm her the moment she walks out the door, only it doesn’t. He’s just… sat there in full sun, looking like he’s just rolled out of bed. His eyes are closed, but he’s wearing white earbuds. Listening to music maybe? It’s odd. He hasn’t really seemed that interested in anything like that lately.

She hesitates at the door, trying to figure out a way to approach him without startling him, but he must… _sense_ her standing there or something. His eyes snap open as he turns towards her pulling the earbuds out. He quickly jumps to his feet, a guilty look on his face, like she’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t be doing. Only as far as she can tell he wasn’t doing anything.

It’s probably nothing. Shaking the feeling, she looks him up and down. His hair is a mess, as it usually is these days; it seems like he hasn’t bothered styling it since he stopped leaving the house, nor has he bothered to keep his stubble so deftly cultivated, leaving it to grow into a slightly longer scruff instead. The black silk robe he wears is left untied, hanging loosely from his shoulders, somehow making him look impossibly skinny.

“Hey,” she greets him with a soft smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You didn’t,” he replies, almost too quickly. He clears his throat, wrapping the white wire of the earbuds around his phone and holding it awkwardly behind his back.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks, noticing him nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot.

He looks up to the sky, jerkily motioning towards the sun. “Oh, you know… just soaking up the rays.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. He _is_ acting strangely.

“Oh yeah?” she asks folding her arms.

He hums, smiling a little though it seems forced. He must see that she’s still curious and adds, “Well I read online that—” He breaks off, waving his hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. How were the errands?”

She frowns at his change of topic but decides to let it be given that he seems more upbeat than usual. “Yeah, they were fine.” She gestures inside. “I got groceries and some stuff for you.”

“Oh?” he perks up a bit at that and plods over to her.

Pausing at the door, she leans up to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek and pulls back, eyes lingering on him for a moment before she wraps her arms loosely around his waist and leans against his chest.

His arms come up to encompass her as he presses his lips to her hair. She squeezes him slightly, noticing how he feels thinner in her grasp, nowhere near as solid as he used to feel.

She pulls back to look at him properly. He does look tired, the lines in his face and the dark circles below his eyes now permanent fixtures. He hasn’t been sleeping well, she knows that, but he doesn’t just look like he’s tired from lack of sleep. He looks like he’s tired of everything. Like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Reaching out, she places the briefest of touches on his cheek. She knows how hard this is for him and she wishes she could just make it better, but the only thing she can do is be patient.

“You hungry?” she asks, taking his hand and leading him towards the grocery bags that sit on the counter. “I got those chicken things you like.”

In fact, she’d tried to get everything he likes, from _Cool Ranch Puffs_ to the peanut butter and chocolate _Poptarts_ that he’d once eaten an entire box of in one sitting, much to her horror.

A hesitant look flickers across his face but disappears before she can place it. “Chicken sounds… acceptable,” he shoots her another forced smile.

“Are you sure? I can make something else, I just thought you liked the chicken.” She finds herself a little bit concerned by his strange behaviour now. Maybe she should just be happy that he’s actually smiling again, but something about him just seems off.

He sets himself down on one of the stools by the island counter as she begins to unpack the groceries. “Truth be told, I’ve not much of an appetite, but I’m sure I’ll be able to eat something once it’s ready.”

Something she thinks might be pride swells in her heart. He’s so clearly trying and that’s enough. She stops unpacking, placing the box of mac and cheese she’d had in her hand down and rounds the counter. He gives her a little puzzled look as she smiles at him and leans in to softly peck his cheek before returning to unpacking.

“What was that for?” he asks, frowning.

She turns to him, smiling fondly. “I’m just proud of you, that’s all.”

His frown deepens. “For…?”

“I can see you’re trying, Lucifer. Looking after yourself better. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t touched your cigarettes since I left this morning.”

His lips twitch at the corners, forming the smallest of smiles. It’s so soft and genuine, the first proper smile she’s seen from him in what feels like too long. It makes her heart flutter in her chest.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” she says, rummaging through the bags to find the right one. “The things I got you.”

He straightens to his full height in the chair, watching with interest as she finally finds the right bag and riffles through it.

“I went to see Linda while I was out and—”

“You talked about me?”

She pauses, suddenly worried that he might not want her to talk about him with Linda, especially since he’d insisted he didn’t want to see her for therapy anymore. “A little bit, yeah.” His eyes fall to his hands which lay in his lap, his fingers fiddling with his ring which now seems far too big for his finger. “I’m just worried about you, that’s all. I wanted to see if there’s more I could be doing to help. She had some really great advice actually.”

His reaction is difficult to judge. By the way he averts his gaze from her though, she guesses he’s not exactly happy about it.

“I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to talk to Linda about you. I didn’t think… I just wanted to help.”

He looks up at her, his dark brown eyes meeting hers. “No. I know… you just want to help. It’s okay, really. What did you get?” he asks with more interest than she’d expected, gesturing to the bag in her hands.

She rummages in it, the plastic crinkling in the silence of the apartment. “Here,” she offers him the pack of assorted stress toys and fidget things.

He stares at the colourful collection of weird and wonderful shapes, his brow furrowing. “What is it?” he asks apprehensively, eyeing it like it might attack him. It’s quite endearing actually.

“Stress toys, you know, for anxiety.”

She expects some snarky remark, some quip or anything. Instead he just says, “Oh,” in a sad little voice. It makes her heart squeeze painfully in her chest though she tries her best not to show it.

Without further protest, he takes the pack and sets it down on the counter beside him before turning back to her as she rummages in the bag, pulling out the larger object inside. Her hand sinks into the soft material as she grips it, freeing it from its plastic confines. Lucifer arches an eyebrow as she drapes the heavy blanket over her arm.

“A blanket?” he asks incredulously, eyes flickering between the deep blue blanket in her arm and her face in disbelief.

She hums. “Yeah, it’s weighted. Linda said it might help you sleep.”

Lucifer scoffs. “A _security_ blanket? I’m not a bloody child.” He crosses his arms with an irritated huff of air, seeming very much that which he claims not to be.

“I know you’re not, but it’s worth a try isn’t it? No harm done if it doesn’t help, right?”

He grumbles what she thinks is an at least half-way agreeable noise. He might not like it, but if it helps then they should at least try.

She sighs and shrugs the thought away, moving to place the blanket on the sofa for later as well as setting the few remaining contents of the bag down on the coffee table; some books she’d picked up and a few leaflets about emotional support animals. A conversation for later, she thinks, eyeing the grumpy Devil who quietly fumbles with the packet of stress toys.

He sits there, carefully unpacking and scrutinizing each one as she totters around the kitchen putting the groceries away. He handles each one with delicate fingers, as if he’s afraid of breaking them.

“What is this?” he asks suddenly, causing her to look up from where she’s crouched down by the open freezer drawer.

She closes it, a puff of ice-cold air escaping, and stands, stretching out her back as she meanders over to him. A small smile tugs at her lips at the puzzled expression on his face as he holds the box emblazoned with the words ‘ _Calma Llama’_ in front of him.

Easily prising the box from his fingers, she removes the colourful cardboard packaging and takes the llama shaped stress ball out. The squishy material dips beneath her fingers and relents as she squeezes it in her fist. It holds the shape for a moment before slowly returning to its normal llama shape. “It’s a stress ball. You squeeze it,” she explains when she notes his still befuddled expression.

“Well, yes, I can see that.” The space between his eyebrows creases adorably. “Why is it a llama though?” He waves his hand in the air, vaguely gesturing to the animal in question. “What’ve llamas done that warrants someone wanting to squeeze their bloody brains out?” he asks in such a serious tone that she can’t help but burst out in a fit of laughter.

“It’s not funny!” he cries as if outraged, though the little smile that graces his handsome face tells her that he isn’t that serious about it. “Poor little bugger,” he adds, clearly trying to suppress a grin.

She slaps his arm as she laughs gasping for breath from the sudden ridiculousness of it all. Her stomach hurts but it doesn’t matter. It feels good, so unbelievably good to forget for one second the horrible sadness that has occupied so much of their lives these past few weeks. Even if it is just for a moment.

The unexpected silliness is just such a contrast to it all. “Lucifer!” she manages to cry out between fits of laughter.

“What?” He grins and if anyone saw him in that moment, they wouldn’t think anything was wrong at all. No hint of the darkness that lurks below the surface, just his usual playful smile and the sparkle of mischief in his dark eyes.

Eventually, she steadies herself, catching her breath and just smiles at him. Wide and unfiltered. “It’s… nothing,” she says softly, her heart aching just a little because she misses this. Misses _them_. All their banter and the ease of it all.

She moves closer to him as he spins slightly in the chair to meet her face on. Settling between his slightly parted knees, she throws her arms around him, nestling her face into the crook of his neck. “I love you. You know that don’t you?”

I… do,” he replies slowly, confused at her whiplash inducing mood swing.

“Good,” is all she says, sinking into him, burying her fingers in his hair just to feel like she’s holding onto him a little bit tighter.

She just holds on because she’s terrified of losing this.

Of losing him.

The rest of the night is relatively uneventful; they eat, and they watch tv, curled up on the sofa together, the heavy blanket wrapped around them both. The credits roll on the documentary they’ve been watching, and she presses a kiss to his temple before rising.

“Getting a drink, want anything? I got you some chamomile tea to try.”

He hums sleepily, eyelids heavy as she threads her fingers through his hair. “Yes, please.”

She smiles, gently scratching her fingers along his scalp, untangling them from his hair before heading for the kitchen. “Alright. Anything else?” she calls over to him as she makes two cups of tea. Wine would be nice, but it seems unfair to drink in front of him when she’s sure he’d rather be drinking scotch.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she opens the fridge and stares longingly at the shelves of snacks illuminated by the low electric light. Her eyes settle on the lemon bars that she’d impulsively bought for herself. She really shouldn’t… oh, who cares? Grabbing two from the box and putting them onto a plate she takes them and the tea back over to the sofa.

Lucifer peers at her with interest, stretching in his position to see what’s on the plate as she hands it to him.

“There’s chocolate cake if you prefer, or plenty of other stuff.”

“No,” he says grabbing one of the bars and licking his lips, “lemon bars are good.”

She smiles and settles back down next to him, nursing her cup in one hand. The lemon bars quickly vanish and soon his head is leaning heavily on her shoulder, her arm around him, holding him close to her. Her fingers idly rasp against his stubble as they watch another episode.

About half-way through, he yawns heavily and makes a weak attempt to stifle it with his hand.

“Tired?” she asks quietly.

“Yeah,” he manages through another yawn.

She grabs his hand. “Bed?”

He nods against her and pulls the blanket close as she rises and tugs him along with her.

As soon as they get into bed, he curls into a ball against her, his head resting on her chest and the heavy blanket wrapped around him. She presses her lips to his hair and holds him tightly.

She feels his breathing ebb as her own eyelids grow heavy. “Goodnight, Lucifer,” she whispers against him.

“G’night,” he mumbles before drifting off.

She forces herself to stay awake until she’s sure he’s asleep and, eventually, his light, content snores fill the space around them. He looks peaceful, snuggled into her arms, holding the blanket close to himself. She can’t help but smile and press her lips to his hair once more before allowing herself to drift into a peaceful slumber.

She wakes in the morning to find him fast asleep, still pressed closely into her side like he hasn’t moved at all. It’s still early, but he’s had more sleep in one night than he has done in weeks. That’s all that really matters.

She basks in the peaceful, normalcy of it all. Of waking to the sound of bird songs and not screams. Gently, she cards her fingers through his slightly longer than normal, curly hair.

A happy, sleepy little grumble resonates in his throat and he somehow manages to snuggle closer to her. His stubble prickles her sensitive skin.

Soon though, his eyes open a fraction.

“Good morning,” she tells him in a hushed voice.

“G’morning,” he grumbles back, groggily blinking as he wakes up.

Leaning into him, she gently presses her lips to his forehead. “How’d you sleep?”

He exhales deeply, pulling the covers closer to his face, his eyes drifting shut again, like he’s content just to stay there. “Good,” he mumbles, the sheets muffling his voice as he snuggles into them.

She runs her hand over the top of his head, smiling to herself. “Good, I’m glad.”

Pulling herself up into a sitting position, she leans against the headboard, allowing herself a few minutes to wake up properly. He moves to curl up next to her, his arm draped over her legs, his face pressed to her thigh. The blanket is still bunched up between them, one of his arms tangled in it, holding it close to him.

For a while she just watches him as he dozes peacefully. When she eventually gets up to go make some breakfast, she feels bad about disturbing him. A little whine forms in the back of his throat as she extricates herself from his grasp. She smiles fondly and runs her hand over his hair, fingers trailing along his face and lightly scratching his scruff.

“I’ll be back,” she tells him softly, “go back to sleep.”

When she comes back half an hour later, he isn’t asleep, but is at least where she’d left him, comfortably snuggled in bed. His eyes snap open when he hears her enter and he moves to sit up, obviously spotting the plates in her hands, and knowing him, smelling the food.

“I made breakfast,” she explains, handing one plate to him and rounding the bed to sit with her own.

He shifts a bit awkwardly and clears his throat as he picks up the knife and fork. “Thank you,” he says, though it sounds a bit strained.

“That’s okay,” she replies, smiling back at him.

She digs into her own breakfast, carefully watching him eat. It’s good to see him eating again, even if he is just picking at it.

After she’s cleared her plate, she places it to one side and leans against him, sighing contently. The morning is slowly dwindling away, but it doesn’t matter. She’d stopped by the precinct yesterday when she’d been running errands and requested a couple of days off, so she doesn’t have anything pressing to do today. Lounging in bed seems like as good a plan as any. She does have a couple of things on her mind though, that she’d been wanting to talk to him about and hadn’t found the right moment.

“Hey,” she starts, somewhat awkwardly, “there’s a couple of things I want to discuss with you.”

His eyebrows creep towards his hairline and his mouth forms a small ‘o’ shape.

“So, when I talked to Linda yesterday, she suggested maybe looking into getting a support animal.” He nods, but she can see he doesn’t understand. “You know… like a dog or a _cat_ ,” she offers the latter more hesitantly.

“No,” he says without missing a beat. “Absolutely not.” Shaking his head, he pushes his plate to one side and folds his arms in front of him. “I do not desire a cat. We’ve already got one needy little spawn, why on earth would I possibly want another grubby little,” he grimaces, waving his hands vaguely in the air around him, “attention seeking _organism_?”

She clears her throat. She’d known he’d had a distaste for animals, but some of the stuff he comes out with… it’s really a bit over the top, even for _him._ Who knew the Devil would be such a drama queen?

“Alright,” she says, “but just think about it, okay? I really think it might help you, Lucifer. I have some pamphlets about the supp—”

“No,” he cuts her off. “I don’t want a bloody cat. Unless it’s a tiger, then I’m interested.”

She blinks, shaking her head in disbelief, but decides to humour him for a moment. “First off, is it even _legal_ to have a tiger as a pet? And second, where would you keep it _?_ ”

He shrugs a little sheepishly. “In the garden?”

“Yeah, no, we are _not_ getting a tiger.” She shakes her head. “Not gonna happen.”

He crosses his arms and grumbles under his breath.

She hadn’t expected him to go for the support animal idea anyway, so she isn’t too disappointed. Pushing it isn’t going to get her anywhere, so she decides to leave it for now.

“Anyway,” she says, changing the topic before he gets too upset, “moving on. What do you want to do today? I have a couple of days off and I thought maybe we could go out somewhere?”

He visibly pales at her suggestion. She feels his muscles tense beneath her fingers. “Out?” he repeats, his voice shaking.

She nods. “Yeah like, I don’t know, the beach or we could go see a movie… whatever you want.”

“N-no,” he says, stammering before clearing his throat in an attempt to steady himself. “No, I don’t want to.”

“Lucif—”

“No,” he says more firmly, pulling himself from her arms and quickly rising from the bed.

He paces a few steps back and forth in the small bedroom, clearly agitated. She remains where she is, not daring to move closer in case she upsets him. “We don’t have to go anywhere. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The pacing slows until he’s just stood there, staring back at her.

“You’ve just been stuck in for so long, I thought a change of scenery might do you good.”

“No.” He shakes his head, looking slightly frantic. “I don’t want to go out anywhere. I’m… I'm sorry.”

Sliding off the bed, she edges towards him, taking his slightly shaking hand in her own. “Hey, that’s okay, there’s nothing to apologise for. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

She leads him to sit on the edge of the bed. He leans against her, quietly processing whatever is going on in his head.

“I just can’t,” he says suddenly.

“Why not?” she ventures carefully.

An unhappy puff of air slips from his lips and he shakes his head again, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s going to sound stupid.”

“No,” she reassures him, threading her fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “Nothing you say will ever sound stupid to me, Lucifer.”

“I—” He slouches against her, burying his face in his hands as a pained little whine slips from his lips. “I’m afraid.”

She can understand that, the world must be a scary place for him right now. Loud and unpredictable.

“I’m afraid that it’ll happen again,” he continues. “That I’m going to—” He stops abruptly, taking a shaky breath before continuing, “That I’ll end up back _there.”_

Oh. Her mind quickly pieces it together. He’s afraid of dying, of going back to Hell and getting stuck there again. It’s not irrational considering what he’s been through, but she knows he can’t live like this.

Pulling him into her and holding him tightly against her, she hushes him. “It’s okay to be afraid, but you can’t carry on like this. I can’t tell you that everything is going to be okay, that nothing is going to happen, but you can’t just hide from everything. That’s not the answer. Look,” she pauses briefly, “why don’t we spend the night at the penthouse, huh? You don’t have to see anyone else.”

“I-I don’t know…” he murmurs softly. “What if—”

“Hey, it’ll be okay. It’s just here to Lux, alright? Nothing is going to happen.”

Finally, after what seems like much deliberation, he nods against her, whispering a still unsure sounding, “Okay.”

~

True to Chloe’s word, nothing happens on the way to Lux. She drives the Corvette there. The wind in his hair might feel nice if not for the insistent anxiety that bubbles inside him, holding him on the edge of panic.

But they do, thankfully, make it there without incident and he finds that actually it hadn’t been so bad. It seems a bit silly, looking back now, to think that he’d been _scared_ to go in the car for twenty minutes. At first, he thinks the panic inside him has abated, that maybe he can actually enjoy his evening with Chloe for once, but no.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

He hasn’t been here in a long time, not since before….

This place holds memories. And he knows all too well now that his memories are not his friend.

As soon as the doors to the elevator slide open, revealing the lavish bachelor pad beyond, it hits him.

A memory so painful that he’d tried to bury it deep down. The one thing he’d tried so desperately to forget.

_“What’ve I done?”_

He squeezes his eyes closed, willing it to leave him in peace. When he opens them though, he finds quite the opposite. He holds his shaking hands out before him and sees the blood that covers them. Uriel’s blood.

His brother, who he’d killed. No. Not killed. Who he’d destroyed. His soul, gone forever.

Uriel didn’t deserve that no matter the things he’d done.

“Lucifer!” Chloe’s voice penetrates his consciousness. “You’re okay, you’re safe. Come back to me.”

Desperately, he reaches out for her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close to him. She’s an anchor, stopping him from spiralling further into the images that haunt him.

She whispers a string of comforting things, helping to ground him in the here and now. He focuses on her voice, the soothing tones and the feel of her in his arms. Soon he feels himself start to calm, his racing heart slowing and his breathing becoming easier.

“I’m okay,” he manages to say eventually, pulling away from her slightly to see that they are once again sat on the floor. It’s cold, hard and uncomfortable and he suddenly feels guilty for causing her to have to sit on it for however long he’d been… _gone._

He frees her from his arms, realising that he might have been holding her a little too tightly. “Did I hurt you?” he asks when she rubs a hand over her arm.

“No.” She presses the palm of her hand to his cheek. “Maybe cut off the blood flow for a little while though.” She smiles softly. “It’s okay, really. You didn’t hurt me,” she adds though he can’t help but feel bad still.

Climbing to his feet he offers her his hand which she takes, immediately pulling him into a hug as she does. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice muffled by his shirt. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come here when you clearly felt uncomfortable with it. Do you want to go home?”

He could easily say yes. Easily retreat. But if he does that he’s never going to get anywhere, is he? If he knows one thing to be true, it is that he, Lucifer Morningstar, is not a coward.

“No,” he says firmly. “I think we should stay.”

The following hours he spends mostly in silent contemplation. Chloe lays, curled on the sofa beneath his fluffy grey throw with a book in her hands, having raided his bookshelves.

He stands on the balcony, staring out at the city below, just thinking about… _everything._

And maybe it’s all a little too much for him because he finds that when the sun has long since set and Chloe pulls him to bed, that he can’t sleep. His mind is just too filled with buzzing thoughts to do so.

So, he doesn’t. Instead he does the one thing he has always done when his feelings have overwhelmed him.

He plays.

~

That night she wakes, not to the sound of screams or birds, but to music. The piano. The space beside her is empty and it doesn’t take much deduction to figure out where he is.

Pulling herself free from the covers, she slides out of bed and pads towards the source of the music.

She stops in the archway for a moment, hugging her arms around herself as the loss of the bed covers makes her feel cold. He sits at the piano bench, his eyes closed as his fingers dance over the keys, plucking out a hauntingly beautiful melody with ease. The mournful music floats through the air, enveloping her. It’s a song she knows, but slower. _Sadder._ So sad that she can almost feel what he’s feeling through it.

Blinking away the tears that prickle her eyes, she shakes herself and pads slowly down the steps towards the piano. The coolness of the marble floor chills her feet, sending a shiver down her spine. 

“Hey,” she says softly when his fingers finally come to a stop, the notes fading into nothingness.

“Hi,” he replies, a small, delicate syllable on his lips.

She trails her fingers along the planes of his strong shoulders as she rounds the bench and sets herself down next to him.

Silence lingers between them for a moment. A slight breeze flows through the apartment from the open patio doors, lightly ruffling the curtains.

She pulls her arms closer around herself; the thin dress shirt she’d commandeered doing little to shield her from the night’s chill.

“That was beautiful,” she whispers for no other reason than to not disturb the atmosphere that was set by his song. “Sad,” she continues, “but, beautiful.”

He hums in return. “I don’t think I ever truly understood it until now.” He turns towards her just slightly allowing her to see the despair in his dark eyes. “The song, I mean.”

She leans into him, wrapping her arm around his waist, basking in the heat that radiates from his skin. He sighs and she feels him relax against her, almost melting into her touch. He looks straight ahead, and she studies his profile, dark against the backlight of the bar. There’s a conflicted look swirling in his features, sad and thoughtful. She can almost see the wheels turning in his head as his jaw tenses. “What’s on your mind?” she asks carefully.

He remains staring, unseeing deeper into the apartment as she rubs her hand up and down his bare side. The tiniest of touches just to let him know that she’s there.

“I just…” he trails off, sighing heftily. Deflating against her. She can feel him sorting his thoughts and remains silent, waiting for him to continue. “It all just feels so… _pointless,”_ he continues eventually. “You know, in all my long life I don’t think I’ve ever been happy. Not really.” He turns, meeting her eyes. “Not until I met you, Chloe. There were times when I thought I was happy only to realise later that it was just…” he presses his lips into an unhappy line, shaking his head, “it was just a manipulation. That I was only feeling what someone else _wanted_ me to feel. It was just a lie. But this— _you_ — this is real. I know that in my heart and yet… I’m miserable, Chloe.”

His eyes glisten, pleading with her. A tremor shakes his voice as he speaks. “I want so badly to be happy and I know that I can be— I _have_ been happy with you. Yet I’m not.” A silent tear trickles down his cheek. “I don’t want to feel like this. Nothing’s helping. I’ve tried. I even followed ridiculous articles that I found online.” He throws his hands up in the air, a distressed sound tumbling from his lips. “Meditation and vitamin D,” he scoffs, “fat load of good they did me.”

Is that what he’d been doing in the garden earlier?

“Oh, Lu,” she breathes, reaching out to take his face in her hand, catching the tears that fall with her thumb, “my sweet Devil.”

She pulls him into her, his head coming to rest on her shoulder, her arms wrapping around him and holding him tightly against her.

“I’m wasting time,” he continues, voice muffled by her shirt and raw with emotion.

_Wasting time?_ She puzzles over his meaning as he sobs, and she gently rocks him. “Wasting time for what?” she asks, unsure of whether or not he will answer.

He sniffles, roughly scrubbing a hand over his face as he pulls away from her. “For us,” he says plainly, like it should be obvious to her, only it isn’t. Her brow furrows and she opens her mouth to ask him what he means, but he continues before she can. “We don’t have forever, Chloe. One day you’re going to die or maybe I’ll die again and go back to—” He abruptly cuts himself off, squeezing his eyes shut and ridding himself of the thought. Clearing his throat, he continues, “We only have so much time and… I want to enjoy it. Instead I’m wasting it by being….” He scoffs, a miserable, unhappy sound. “I don’t want to be like this, but I can’t help it. I’ve been trying so hard and it hasn’t made a difference.”

“Lucifer,” she says, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it just a smidge, “you can’t think like that. We’ve talked about this. We have so much time ahead of us and I know you’re down at the moment, but we’re together and we’re getting through it, yeah?”

He swallows, the sadness in his eyes not abating. “What if we don’t have time? What if I get shot again or you—” He stops mid-sentence, unable to bring himself to say it. “I don’t want to be alone again.”

“I know you don’t.” Her thumb traces over his knuckles as she speaks. “We don’t know how long we have, but that’s life, Lucifer. It’s what being human is all about.”

He blinks at her, his long eyelashes stuck together, inundated with his tears. “How do you deal with it?” he asks quietly, as if afraid to know the answer.

She purses her lips and shrugs a little. “I suppose I just try to make the most of every day, you know? Spend time with the people I love,” she edges closer to him until her lips are only inches away from his. “You and Trix, I don’t know what I'd do without either of you. We are here now, together, Lucifer. That’s what matters. I can’t give you forever, but I can promise you _now_. I’m not going anywhere if I can help it.”

His breath hitches. His plush pink lips parted slightly as he gazes at her with what she can only describe as adoration in his eyes. Then, to her surprise, he leans forward, closing the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers.

It’s short but passionate, leaving her breathless when he pulls away.

“Thank you,” he says, barely a whisper.

She smiles, leaning against him, entwining their fingers. “I love you,” she replies, an almost desperate quiver to her voice because she has to make sure that he knows it.

“And I you.”

They sit there for a while, content in each other’s company, his arm wrapped around her, her cheek squashed against his chest. Eventually he yawns and attempts to cover it with his fist.

“You wanna go get back in bed?” she asks, lazily tracing his freckles like a dot-to-dot with her free hand.

He nods, yawning again, eyes sleepily drooping as the tiredness hits him.

“Come on,” she says, rising and tugging him towards the bedroom.

They both sleep peacefully that night, as they do almost every night that follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also check out [this](https://twitter.com/swank_kat/status/1168652572913274886?s=21) amazing artwork based on this chapter by Swankkat, commissioned by my very lovely beta Shazzam ❤️


	8. Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“Everything about you is how I'd want to be_  
>  _Your freedom comes naturally_  
>  _Everything about you resonates happiness_  
>  _Now I won't settle for less_  
>  _Give me_  
>  _All the peace and joy in your mind”_  
>  \- Bliss by Muse (also [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/3LobxxYvroVcQB9dBHJHP2?si=9d8idBWgQ2S5Q-vBi9f0xQ) is a really awesome cover by the Vitamin String Quartet)

When she gets in, she finds Lucifer sat on the couch grinning to himself as he looks at something on his phone. She can’t help but smile at that. It seems ridiculous, but only after everything they’ve been through does she realise how precious every moment is. How she’d taken such small things for granted before.

Since the night at the penthouse, he seems better; happier, healthier and just more like his usual self. Of course, it hadn’t just clicked like that. There have still been nights where he’s woken up screaming and days where it seems like nothing can cheer him up, but as time passes, they become fewer and further between. He’d even started seeing Linda again, surprisingly at his own request.

“Hey,” she says, closing the door behind her and moving to perch on the arm of the couch next to him. He doesn’t look away from his phone for long enough to notice the cardboard box she has tucked under one arm. “Whatcha watching?” she asks, leaning against him and burying her fingers in his now neatly styled and trimmed hair.

He tilts the phone so that she can see the screen. It’s a montage of ‘cat fails’. She turns to him, raising an eyebrow. His grin widens as a cat on the screen attempts a jump and misses. “I thought you didn’t like cats?” she asks whilst also appreciating how adorable he looks.

“I don’t.” He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I can’t laugh at them.” Turning his attention back to the video, he suddenly points. “I mean look! It’s scared of a cucumber for goodness sake!” He shakes his head, turning the video off and putting his phone down before adding under his breath, “Bloody ridiculous creatures.”

She giggles, not able to keep the smile off her face as she pulls him closer to her and places a soft kiss to the top of his head. “You’re cute. You know that, right?”

He turns to her, an affronted look on his face. “The Devil is not cute!”

“Yeah, you are.”

He harrumphs, crossing his arms and sinking into the sofa like a petulant child. It’s really quite endearing.

“Anyway,” she continues, changing the subject, “you feel like going out?”

He perks up at the question and turns back to her as she rises from her uncomfortable position. She untucks the cardboard box from beneath her arm that he hasn’t yet commented on. It seems to pique his interest when she holds it out in front of her.

“Sure,” he says, sitting up straight and craning his neck to get a good look at the box. It’s a plain, brown shoe box and, unless he has x-ray vision (which she’s pretty sure he doesn’t), he can’t tell what’s inside. “What’s this?”

She smirks at him as she hands him the box. “Go get dressed and put these on.”

He frowns, slowly moving his suspicious gaze from her to the box as he lifts the lid. As soon as he lays eyes on the contents, he immediately snaps back up to look at her, his face creased into a mixture of disgust and confusion. “What on _earth_ are these monstrosities?”

“Do you want to go out or not?” she asks him again. She’d thought it likely that he would complain, but she’d decided to take the chance anyway.

“Well… yes, but—”

“Then stop complaining and go and get dressed,” she commands, pointing upstairs.

Confusion flickers across his features, like he’s trying to decide whether to argue further, but in the end, he concedes.

She watches him as he traipses up the stairs feeling just a little bit proud that she actually pulled that off. She thought for sure he would outright refuse her request.

Half an hour or so later, heavy, plodding footsteps trudge down the stairs and Lucifer emerges. She can’t help but sigh and roll her eyes when she sees that he’s dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit paired with the black hiking boots she’d bought him. It hadn’t been _exactly_ what she’d had in mind when she’d told him to go get dressed.

“Lucifer—” She starts but is quickly cut off.

“I’d a bloody job on finding anything that matches with these unsightly things,” he gestures to the boots, “and I’m still not best pleased, but I doubt it’s going to get any better. It’ll have to do,” he finishes with a huff, shaking his head.

“Lucifer,” she continues, only just finding it in herself to resist another sigh. She really feels like she should have expected this. “When I said get dressed, I kinda had something a bit more casual in mind. Like maybe jeans and a t-shirt?” she offers.

His eyebrows creeps towards his hairline as he gestures to himself with an elegant flourish. “But I’ve got to look my best!”

She rolls her eyes again, picking up her backpack and swinging it onto her shoulder. “You know you look good in anything, right?” she asks, knowing full well that he does and isn’t afraid to tell anyone.

“And in nothing, of course.” He smirks, waggling his eyebrows and preening just a little.

_Of course_. She huffs in both amusement and disbelief. “Go get changed,” she says, pointing to the stairs yet again, “and don’t take too long.”

Fifteen minutes later, he bounces back down the stairs, his heavy shoes thumping against the floor as he does. This time he’s clad in dark, skinny jeans and a tight fitted, black tee with his leather jacket.

She feels heat flush her cheeks at the sight of him. He really _does_ look good in anything and if she’s honest with herself, the rarity of his casual side makes it all the more attractive.

He smirks as he stalks towards her, the picture of tall, dark and handsome. “See something you like?” he purrs.

Only then does she realise that her mouth is open, and she’s been staring at him. She clears her throat awkwardly, feeling her face redden even further with embarrassment. “Uh, yeah!” she exclaims a little too jerkily. “You look,” _so good I could rip all your clothes off and take you right here on the kitchen counter,_ she doesn’t say, worrying her lip between her teeth, “good,” she finally settles on. “You look good,” she repeats less hesitantly, trying to cover her embarrassment.

The cocky smile that spreads across his face tells her that she hasn’t succeeded. It doesn’t matter really, she thinks as she moves closer to him, sliding her hand under his jacket and leaning up to kiss his neatly stubbled cheek.

His hand comes up to hold her face, his fingers tangling in her loose hair, and as she pulls away, he moves to place his lips on hers. It’s so filled with passion and intensity that it’s almost desperate. Desperate to be together, to be close to one another and to _feel good._ Desperate to claim back that which it feels like they’ve lost these past few weeks.

Her fingers tease the short hairs at the nape of his neck, clinging onto him, never wanting to let go. One strong hand wraps around her middle, holding her tight as he deepens the kiss, his skilful tongue delving into the depths of her mouth. He tastes like mint and his scruff lightly scratches her sensitive skin, but in this moment, she doubts she could be happier.

They finally feel like _them_ again.

He pulls away, moving to pepper kisses along her jawbone and down her neck. A tiny groan tumbles from her lips and she buries her face in the crook of his neck, hiding herself and inhaling, long and deep, basking in the scent of him. The sharp, rich fragrance of his sandalwood cologne tickles her nose, but beneath she can still pick out a lingering hint of sweetness from their fruity shower gel and something familiar that she now knows to be just him. No whiskey, no cigarette smoke. Just him.

Giving him one last little squeeze in her arms, she regretfully pulls away. She smiles at him, her eyes lingering on the soft, gentle smile that graces his own features, and takes his hand in hers. “Come on,” she says quietly, picking her backpack up from where it sits on the chair by the counter and tugging him towards the door.

She could easily forget about her plan and stay here, losing herself in him, but as much as she wants to, she doesn’t. There are things on her mind that she’s been wanting to talk about for a while. She needs to clear her head and knows exactly where to go to do that. It’ll be good for both of them.

“Where _are_ we going?” he asks, for what must be the tenth time.

“You’ll see soon enough,” she replies, as she had done every other time he’d asked. They’re almost there now anyway.

He stares out the car window, silently watching as the concrete jungle of the city thins, giving way to nature; thick forests, stretching over craggy mountains. Not a cloud in the crystal clear expanse of blue sky. The soft hum of some 80’s rock plays on the radio. His hands work restlessly in his lap, fiddling with one of the stress toys she’d given him. Some stretchy, colourful piece of rubber that he pulls between his fingers and wraps around his hand before letting it snap back to its normal size and repeating the motion. It’s funny. He’s played with all the stress toys except the llama. He’d just left it, sitting on the kitchen counter, untouched.

Maybe he’d taken his joke about squeezing _‘their bloody brains out’_ more seriously than she’d realised.

Soon, after driving down a few bumpy dirt roads, she pulls over, parking the car in a dusty clearing. Lucifer perks up, glancing around the area. Trees tower around them, stretching high, shading them from the worst of the midday sun. An old, worn trail sign stands on the edge of the clearing next to a narrow and slightly overgrown dirt path. No one else seems to be around.

“Why are we stopping?” he asks, raising a quizzical eyebrow at her.

“We’re here,” she replies, smiling. Swinging her door open, she slides out of the car and goes around to the back, retrieving her backpack from the trunk.

Lucifer looks perplexed as he gets out and stretches his long limbs. “But there’s nothing here,” he states. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. What are we doing here?” His eyes widen just a fraction. “You’re not going to bloody murder me, are you? I said I’m sorry about getting feathers all over the house, I promise I’ll clean them up!” he says, sounding slightly alarmed like he thinks she’s actually mad about that.

In truth, she’d found the whole thing quite hilarious. A stray cat had wandered into the apartment and the next thing she knows Lucifer’s got his wings out, feathers all puffed up. Similar to the way a cat’s tail gets all puffy when it spots a danger to its territory.

To say he doesn’t like cats, Lucifer can be very cat-like. It makes sense really; cats don’t tend to like other cats after all.

“No,” she laughs, “I’m not going to murder you Lucifer!” She smiles, placing a hand on his arm as his expression fades into confusion. “I brought you out here to walk.” She points to the trail.

“Walk?” he parrots in a bewildered tone.

“Yeah, I used to come out here with my dad sometimes you know. It really helped clear my head. I think it’ll do us both some good to get out for a bit.” When he doesn’t look convinced, she adds, “And I have lunch for us when we get to the top.”

He quirks an eyebrow, but still looks uncertain.

“It’s not too far. Please Lucifer?”

He sighs heavily, looking a little conflicted as he seemingly weighs up his options before finally conceding. “Bloody hell, fine.” Flippantly waving a hand towards the trail, he adds, “Go on then, lead the way,” a little bit gruffly. “And,” he holds out his hand towards her before she can pass him, “let me carry the bag.”

She shrugs. “I’m fine. It isn’t heavy.”

“Chloe,” he tilts his head, raising an eyebrow, “it’s barely an inconvenience to me.”

Narrowing her eyes, she gives him a scrutinizing look. “You just want to be closer to the food, don’t you? Well, nu-uh. Nice try but I’m not having you eat it all before we get there.”

He presses his palm to his chest and gives her a mock affronted look. “Would I do that?”

The only response she gives is to raise one eyebrow at him because they both know that he absolutely _would_ do that.

They walk side by side where the overgrown trail allows them space to. Neither of them say much, but she can tell he’s enjoying himself more than he had initially expected he would.

He looks up at the tree canopy above them, the rays of light that manage to peek through the gaps in the leaves illuminating his face. Above their footsteps all that can be heard is the slight rustle of the breeze in the leaves, birds twittering and just… silence. It’s a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of the city.

At about half-way, she hears the familiar sound of running water; a small, bubbling stream hidden away between the trees. A narrow, wooden footbridge crosses it.

Grinding to a halt, she swings the bag off her shoulder and finds a large boulder suitable enough to sit on. She retrieves a water bottle from the side pocket and takes a long swig before handing it to Lucifer. He takes it and follows suit.

“Are you okay?” she asks him, noticing how unusually quiet he’s become.

He hums in response. “Fine.” He hands the bottle back to her and glances at the woodland that surrounds them. “It’s peaceful out here,” he says unexpectedly.

“It is,” she replies as she takes another drink from the bottle before tucking it back away and rising to her feet.

They cross the creaky, wooden bridge in single file. Lucifer takes it first in two easy strides and waits at the other side for her to follow, holding his hand out to her as she hops down the step.

“It always helped me clear my head, you know?” She takes his hand, entwining their fingers as the path widens, allowing them to walk side by side. They go along at a leisurely pace, Lucifer measuring his long strides to match hers. “I came out here a few times after my dad died, when it felt like everything was just too much. When I needed an escape.”

Lucifer’s gaze lifts from the dusty trail to give her a brief sideways glance before looking directly ahead of him. “Is that what we’re doing?” he asks quietly. “Escaping?”

She squeezes his hand gently. “Maybe a little.” Shrugging, she takes a moment to breathe in the fresh air, to gaze up into the sea of green and blue above them. “After everything that’s been going on, I just thought it’d be good to get away from it all. Even if it’s just for a couple of hours.”

He hums, eyes fixed firmly ahead of him. “It is good. Thank you.”

“That’s okay,” she replies, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

Lucifer comes to an abrupt halt, catching her off guard as she continues forward. Her arm pulls behind her, her hand still in his grasp. She immediately turns to look at him, eyes wide with worry, expecting something to be wrong. Expecting him to suddenly be hit by another flashback or panic attack. Only he seems to be fine.

“I mean it,” he says, voice suddenly rough. “Thank you, Chloe.” He swallows, shaking his head. “For everything. For putting up with me…. I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes.” She takes a step towards him, pressing her hand against his chest, her face mere inches from his. “You do. Lucifer, you deserve better than everything that life has thrown at you. You deserve to be happy.”

His lips part slightly, his breath catching in the back of his throat.

“So, tell me,” she continues, “what makes you happy?”

His brows furrow a little, the crease between them deepening. “You do,” he states plainly. “It’s always been you, Chloe.”

He takes her hand in his, holding it with such care as he lifts it to his lips and places a feather-like, delicate kiss on her knuckles. As he pulls away, his thumb ghosts over the ring on her finger, tracing the stone.

“I did ask you to marry me, didn’t I?” he says, the beginnings of a small smile tugging at his lips.

She tilts her head, smirking. “Technically I asked you.”

His expression sours a little, but the playful sparkle in his eyes doesn’t disappear. “But I was going to ask first,” he counters.

Narrowing her eyes, she hums noncommittally before responding with a cheeky grin, “Buuuuut… you didn’t.”

He huffs. “It isn’t a competition.”

She says nothing in response, only continues to smirk at him. He rolls his eyes.

Maybe she’s rubbing off on him a little more than he realises.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he continues, “I’ve been wanting to ask, well… to make sure that,” he stumbles over his words a little, clearly nervous about whatever he’s going to say. She squeezes his hand to let him know she’s there and he instantly calms somewhat. “I just wanted to give you a chance to change your mind. I understand if you don’t want to marry me after everything I’ve put you through.”

Sadness suddenly dawns his expression despite the clear effort he’s making to hide it. It makes her heart ache.

She takes his cheek in her hand, her thumb rasping over his stubble. His eyes flutter shut, and he turns away slightly as if embarrassed. “I haven’t changed my mind. I’m _never_ going to change my mind about you. Lucifer,” she says softly, her tone imploring him to look at her. He does. His eyes glisten in the golden rays of sun that fall upon them. “I love you.

“I know that we haven’t talked much about our plans recently with everything going on,” she continues, “but as soon as you feel like you’re ready we can talk about it, yeah?”

He nods slowly. “I think... I think I’m almost ready.” He pauses before adding more hesitantly, “There’s just one thing I need to do first.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“I’d like to come back to work.” He pauses and then half shrugs before quickly adding, “If you want me there, that is.”

“Of course I want you there, you’re my partner,” she says softly, her smile widening. He can be so unsure of himself sometimes, it’s such a contrast to how cocky he was when she first met him. Leaning up on her tiptoes, she presses a chaste kiss to his lips and pulls away, taking his hand in hers again and tugging him onwards.

“Come on, let's get moving. I’m getting hungry.”

He falls into step beside her and for the rest of the day the smile on his face does not falter.

~

A few days later, Lucifer accompanies her to work. He’s quiet the entire morning. She asks him if he’s sure he’s ready. First day back shouldn’t be too caseload heavy, but still, she wouldn’t want him doing something that’s going to potentially upset him. He’s doing so well in his recovery; she’s not sure how badly a setback would affect him.

Still, no matter how unsure and skittish he seems, he always answers the same. Yes, he’s sure he wants to go.

He fiddles with one of his stress toys the entire way to the precinct. It looks like some sort of metal rings with two bike chain links holding them together. He turns it over and over in his hand, the pieces moving to form a loop and then flattening out in smooth, fluid motions.

It’s good that he has an outlet for his nervous energy, but still it worries her. This is the most erratic he’s been in days. It’s a big step for him, going back to work. There’s always the potential that they will be put in dangerous situations. The potential that something could go _wrong_.

And that’s the root of his problem isn’t it? Where this had all started. Well, not started, but the push that had toppled the first domino causing the rest to fall in succession.

Him dying.

Coming back a little less than his whole self, burdened with a new-found fear of losing what he— what _they_ have.

She does have faith in him though. He thinks he can handle it and she believes him. Hopefully he’s right.

“You okay?” she asks, reaching across to gently squeeze his knee as she pulls into the multi-story car park at the precinct. Even in the dim light of the concrete structure she can see his skin visibly pale.

He swallows hard before closing his eyes and taking a measured, steadying breath. His fidgeting only increases in intensity, the pieces of the toy making a quiet clicking noise that seems ridiculously loud in contrast to the eerie silence that has fallen over the car and the structure that surrounds them.

He nods wordlessly in response.

The exchange sets her immediately on edge. If there’s one thing she knows about Lucifer it’s that he is the master of half-truths. Hell, he probably invented the concept. And the easiest way for him to avoid telling the truth is to say nothing.

“Are you sure?” she asks him softly. “It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind. It won’t make me, or anyone else, think any less of you.”

His lips part as he turns in his seat to face her. The leather creaks beneath him. For a second he seems to calm down and she thinks that he might take the out. And then she adds, “There’s always tomorrow.”

She knows immediately that the words were a mistake.

He flinches at them. A pained expression dancing across his face as he squeezes his eyes closed and turns away from her. “No,” he replies, voice hoarse. “No, I have to do this _today_ because… well,” he hesitates, struggling to find the words. The muscles in his jaw dance as he clenches his teeth. He drops the stress toy in his lap and scrubs a hand over his face as he lets loose a mighty sigh. “Because there might not be a tomorrow,” he finishes quietly.

She’s not sure what to say. He may be getting better, but he’s still hurting inside. He’s still _scared_.

It can be easy to forget his internal struggle sometimes, when most of the time he seems happy as can be, and then he’ll say something like that and the full force of it will hit her again.

“Chloe,” he says her name as he always does, with a reverence like one might say a prayer, only this time it holds something more. Something desperate. Something that’s begging her, _pleading_ her, to listen to him. “I can do this. I _have_ to try. Please.”

“Okay,” she replies. Despite her nervousness, she’s proud of him. More proud than he probably will ever know. He’s trying so hard and she can see how difficult it is for him, see how he’s struggling with himself. “If it gets too difficult, _promise_ you’ll tell me? I’m here for you okay?”

He nods again, uttering a gloomy “promise” beneath his breath.

She smiles gently, soft but concerned, and steels herself, ready to calm him down if she needs to.

He doesn’t move straight away and so neither does she. It’s best not to rush him. To let him set the pace.

He picks up his toy and turns it over a few times in his hand before taking another shaky breath and reaching out to open the car door. She follows suit, exiting at her side and locking the doors behind them.

As far as she can see the parking lot around them is empty of people. Only cars, concrete, and silence occupies the space around them.

Lucifer stands on the other side of the car looking a tad paler than he had done a moment ago. Maybe it’s the light? He seems to teeter unsteadily on the spot as she walks to the front of the car, not exactly staring at him, but not taking her eyes off him for too long either.

She doesn’t ask if he’s okay again. At some point it’s going to get annoying, if it hasn’t already. She just waits, giving him the time he needs.

He shifts on the spot, each breath seeming to come shorter and shallower than the last. In one erratic motion, he reaches up and tugs at his collar causing it to sit slightly askew. He repeats the motion a couple more times as if the material is too tight around his neck and he’s trying to free himself from it.

It’s when he clutches at his chest, bunching the material of his shirt up between his fingers and leans heavily against the side of the car, that she decides she needs to intervene.

“Lucifer—”

“No,” he cuts her off with one breathless syllable, holding his palm up to her. “No, ‘m okay.” He takes a breath and swallows hard, clearly struggling for every breath. “ Having a—” another breath, “p-panic attack.” He pauses again, sucking in another mouthful of air. She feels helpless, like he’s drowning right in front of her and there’s nothing she can do. “Jus’ need… a minute,” he manages between shaky breaths.

She nods, anxiously chewing on her lip as she watches him struggle for a minute longer. He squeezes his eyes closed. He doesn’t calm straight away, but she can see him trying to time his breathing, probably using a technique that Linda had shown him.

It takes him more than a few minutes, more like fifteen, but eventually his breathing starts to return to almost normal. There’s still a noticeable tremor in his hands as he straightens to his full height and carefully adjusts his cuffs before attempting to straighten his collar. He doesn’t get it quite straight and so when he closes the space between them in two easy strides, she takes a moment to stand in front of him.

“Here,” she says, tugging his collar straight before resting a hand on his cheek. A soft smile graces his lips and although he still looks slightly pale, she can see he’s calmer in himself. “That was… really _great._ You did really good and I am _so_ proud of you.”

She brushes her fingers across his cheek and then wraps her arms around his neck, leaning into him. Tears prickle at her eyes, but she blinks them away, refusing to let them fall.

“Thank you,” he whispers as he melts into her touch.

As they make their way through the precinct, they are greeted by almost everyone they see. Faces light up as they spot Lucifer. People welcome him back as they pass in the halls, some even stop to exchange longer pleasantries; telling him how much he’s been missed in his absence.

It’s a surprise to Chloe. She knew Lucifer was well liked, but she hadn’t expected _this._ Lucifer seems to know everyone by name and she barely even recognises half of them.

Being welcomed isn’t exactly something she’s ever been used to, and admittedly, it feels a little bit weird.

The bullpen is the usual buzz of activity when they arrive. People flit from here to there, uniformed officers wrestle a squirming suspect towards the interrogation room, a few of the detectives stand around the small break area, chatting amicably before bursting out into laughter.

Lucifer pauses briefly at the top of the stairs, staring down at the flurry of activity in the area below. She lightly touches his elbow as she comes to a stop beside him, peering over the balcony and spotting Dan sat at his desk. His head is down, completely absorbed in whatever paperwork he’s doing, and he doesn’t notice them.

No one does, not at first. Not until they make their way down the steps.

Rodriguez is the first to see them. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and looks at them both for a few moments, blinking in disbelief before finally breaking out into a wide grin. “Lucifer!” he exclaims, enthusiastically slapping the man in question on the shoulder. “Welcome back!”

That draws everyone else’s attention. The chattering that fills the room ceases, heads turn and for a moment there is silence. It quickly passes though, replaced by an onslaught of people rising to greet him as they make their way to Chloe’s desk.

Dan gets up from his chair and comes over to them. He stands in front of Lucifer and silently gives him a once over. Lucifer frowns and opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Dan throws his arms around him, vigorously patting his back.

Lucifer’s frown deepens and a mixture of confusion and panic dances across his features. His arms stick out awkwardly as he stiffly endures the unexpected embrace.

“Welcome back, man,” Dan says with a smile as he pulls away. “It’s good to see you, really. I’m glad you’re doing better.”

Lucifer looks briefly taken aback by the other man’s words. His mouth opens and he tilts his head to the side looking rather perplexed by it all. “Thank you, Daniel,” he finally says, his brow still furrowed and eyes scrutinizing him like he’s trying to figure out some kind of puzzle.

Dan throws a friendly smile towards Chloe and bobs his head as he excuses himself to carry on with his work.

She sets herself down in her chair and smiles at Lucifer as he mirrors her, gracefully folding himself into his chair beside her desk.

“Well that was… unexpected,” he says as she grabs the first case file from the top of her in-tray.

Opening it, she grabs a pen from the pot and pauses a second to regard his still confused expression. “People missed you Lucifer. Even Dan, as much as it pains him to admit.”

He hums, carefully folding his hands in his lap.

“And you know you’ve still got one person to say hi to, right?” she looks over her shoulder at Ella’s lab. His gaze quickly follows.

“Ah.” Worry settles in his features. “Miss Lopez. Yes. Of course.”

Her smile widens a fraction. “What’s up?” she asks playfully. “ _Scared?_ ”

He clears his throat and rises from his chair, dusting off invisible lint from his sleeves. “Not at all.” Tilting his head, he adds, “Perhaps a little bit concerned about the increasing likelihood of being hugged to death.”

She laughs.

“Best get it over with,” he says, more to himself than to Chloe.

“Have fun,” she calls after him as he makes his way towards the lab.

~

The door to the lab creaks as he swings it open. The bubbly forensic scientist immediately ceases her activity at the noise and spins on her heel to face him.

She freezes instantly. Her eyes widen, her lips part.

Lucifer isn’t quite sure what to do. Miss Lopez is unpredictable at the best of times.

She takes a step towards him, gazing at him in awe as he closes the door behind him. “Lucifer,” she says slowly, as if she can’t believe her eyes.

“Miss Lopez,” he greets with a nervous smile and a curt bob of his head.

“You’re here…” she continues slowly, “at work.”

He smiles, nodding a little.

She takes another step towards him until she’s stood barely a foot away from him. Her eyes take him in, looking him up and down. “You’re okay.” She blinks and shakes herself from her stupor. “I mean, I know you’re okay! But I thought that like you were— I wasn’t sure that you were,” she gestures vaguely to him, her words failing her.

“Yes, I assure you, I’m quite ‘okay’,” he replies, directing her a toothy smile.

Her gaze lingers on him for a moment longer before she flings her arms around him and squeezes him against her. He tenses in her grasp and waits for it to be over.

“I’m so glad you’re doing better,” she tells him, her voice muffled by his jacket.

He smiles and awkwardly pats her on the back. Her grip does not falter though and for a brief moment he considers forcefully prising himself from her hold. Thankfully she lets him go before that becomes necessary.

She stares up at him, eyes still wide. “Chloe didn’t say anything about you coming back, otherwise I would’ve totally like, gotten you a cake or something!”

“That’s quite alright,” he replies, straightening his jacket once again. “The… _warm_ welcome was quite enough I think.”

A wide smile spreads across her face, lighting up her features. “What can I say? I missed you. A lot of people did.” She pauses before adding, “Seriously, it’s good to have you back, and you know, my offer is still open. If you ever need to talk, I’m always here for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Lopez. Truly.”

She gives him another quick hug. This time he doesn’t feel so awkward. He might even go as far to say it’s not all _that_ bad.

When she pulls away, she points to her stack of paperwork and gives him a regretful little smile. “I should _probably_ get back to work. Talk later?”

“Of course,” he replies with a grin, excusing himself from the lab.

~

Lucifer sets himself back down beside her desk about ten minutes later with a smile on his face.

“How was it?”

He tilts his head, leaning back in his chair and intertwining his fingers in his lap. “Not actually that bad,” he replies with a small smile.

She knows deep down he has a special fondness for the Forensic Scientist. That their friendship is a little deeper than he’ll likely ever admit.

“Anyway,” she changes the topic, holding out a file for him to take, “ready to get some work done, partner?”

He leans forward and takes it from her. “I believe I am, _partner.”_

The day goes smoothly. The case is open and shut. And somehow, all feels right in their little world again.

_Epilogue_

He wakes slowly. The covers around him make him feel warm and secure as he pulls them closer around him.

As he stretches out his limbs, he revels in the feeling of contentment that washes over him. He feels safe, at home and better rested than he has in weeks.

He becomes more aware of the world around him as he rouses at a leisurely pace. The sound of soft, even breaths fills the space next to him. Chloe. _His_ Chloe.

It’s still frankly quite baffling to him that she’s still here, after everything he’s done, after everything he’s put her through. She’s still here. She still loves him.

Before he met her, he didn’t think himself capable of love. Or of being loved. But time and time again, she’s proved him wrong.

She really is a miracle.

Loosing a content sigh, he cracks his eyes open. The first thing he sees as he squints against the rays of golden light that filter through the gap in the curtains is a pair of crystal clear, blue eyes staring back at him.

He grumbles a little. “Have you been watching me sleep?” he asks, voice still rough from sleep.

She smiles, a gentle little thing that makes his heart instantly soar. “Maybe….” Shifting from her side and propping herself up on one elbow, she half shrugs at him. “You just looked so peaceful.”

Reaching out with her free hand, she tangles her fingers in his hair, carding them through it and lazily tracing patterns over his scalp. His eyes flutter shut at the contact. He feels himself dozing when a knock comes at the bedroom door.

_The Spawn._

He grumbles and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and contemplating his impending doom.

“Just a second Monkey,” Chloe calls, laughing lightly as she runs her fingers through his hair one last time before pulling away, much to his dismay. “Still decent under there?” she asks him more quietly.

He feels her leg brush against his under the covers, her smooth skin sending tingles down his spine.

“I’ve still got boxers on if that’s what you mean. _Unfortunately,_ ” he grumbles, sleepily stifling a yawn.

She hums, rolling her eyes. “As long as you’re not naked. Come in Monkey,” she calls out.

The door immediately bursts open and Trixie comes running in, mail in hand which she promptly flings towards Chloe before jumping onto the bed, well… more accurately, onto Lucifer. 

An “oomph” escapes him as he feels himself winded at the unexpected weight of her landing on him.

She giggles, wiggling as he carefully shifts her weight from on top of him, to the side in between him and Chloe. “Bloody hell, Urchin,” he says as he gets his breath back. “Steady on!”

The child just giggles more, cuddling into her mother’s side, who also seems to be laughing at him. He sighs as he pulls himself up to lean against the headboard.

“Good morning Monkey,” Chloe says with a bright smile, running her fingers through the girl’s dark hair. “What’s up?”

The girl averts her gaze, shrugging shyly, her cheeks tinting just slightly pink. “I brought you the mail,” she answers. 

“I can see that, Monkey,” Chloe replies as she starts to sort through the envelopes in front of her. “Oh, hey,” she says, holding out an envelope to him, “this one’s for you.”

Lucifer quirks an eyebrow as she offers him the letter, momentarily forgetting whatever game the Spawn is playing. It’s very rare that he gets mail here, most of it still goes to Lux where someone else deals with it, so the unexpected letter seems odd. 

He takes it from her, eyeing the black and white logo on the front before tearing into it. Chloe smiles softly as she watches him remove the letter and booklet from inside, his frown deepening as he does. 

“What is this?” he asks, turning to Chloe as he sees the picture on the letter and the words thanking him for his generous donation. 

Chloe shrugs a little, her hand straying over his shoulder as she leans into him a little more. “Well, you know I couldn’t get you an _actual_ tiger, but I thought that maybe I could do the next best thing and help one.” 

He finds himself a bit speechless, he opens his mouth but can’t seem to find the words to describe the sudden warmth that blossoms in his chest. “You…” he tries and fails. 

Chloe’s smile turns fond and she laughs a little, sweet thing that makes his heart flutter. “I sponsored a tiger for you,” she points to the picture on the letter, “his name is Blake.” He blinks several times, desperately trying to identify all the feelings that swell within him at the simple gesture. “Do you…” her smile fades a little and she suddenly looks quite unsure of herself, “ _like_ it?”

“I… thank you, Chloe. It’s perfect.” He finds himself smiling widely at her as he leans down, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. 

“You have a _tiger!_ ” Trixie exclaims suddenly, breaking their moment. “That is _so_ cool! Can I see?” 

Lucifer sighs, handing the information packet over. If only she wasn’t here, the things he and Chloe could be doing right now….

Speaking of… _what_ is she doing here? “Aren’t there cartoons or something you’re supposed to be watching, Spawn?”

The Spawn shrugs, averting her gaze from his once again. “I don’t _have_ to watch cartoons, you know,” she mumbles. 

Lucifer hums. “But you never miss your ridiculous _sponge_ show.”

The girl shrugs again.

Chloe may miss it, but Lucifer can tell that she’s after something. 

The sly little Urchin is rarely _shy_. He narrows his eyes at her. “Right. Out with it. What do you want?”

Chloe frowns at him and is about to say something when Trixie’s act of innocence falters. It really doesn’t take much. “Can I pleeeeeeease touch your wings again Lucifer? Pretty please?” 

Ah, so that’s what she’s up to. 

She looks at him with those big brown eyes and he finds himself powerless to resist. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to resist. Having his wings touched feels good, but he tries not to admit that to them.

Somewhere deep down he has a feeling that they already know.

“Let me see your hands,” he says, narrowing his eyes as she holds her palms out to show him.

“I’m not sticky!” the girl protests.

Scrutinizing her hands for another long moment, he finally concedes. “Best to be sure. We won’t be having a repeat of the peanut butter incident. Took hours to get rid of the bloody stuff,” he grumbles, grimacing at the memory. He still isn’t sure how on earth she managed to get it everywhere.

Both Chloe and the Urchin laugh at his misfortune.

Sighing, he rolls onto his back and with one swift motion, unfurls his wings. One spreads across the bed, covering Chloe and the Offspring, and the other droops down onto the floor.

Trixie whoops with joy and immediately plunges her little fingers into the soft, downy feathers at the top of his wings. Chloe quickly joins her, one hand in his feathers, repeatedly stroking down the spines in a soothing motion, the other reaching across to sink into his hair, idly scratching patterns across his scalp.

A tiny groan slips from him as his head sinks into the pillow. The sudden assault of touches sends him into a state of ecstasy and he soon finds himself dozing, meandering on the line between being asleep and being awake. Basking in the feeling of just being able to relax.

Of being in bed just because he wants to be, not because he’s completely exhausted. For once feeling like he has nothing to worry about. And of course, revelling in the feel of having the woman he loves touch him so tenderly, with such care, not because she has to, but because she _wants_ to.

It is _bliss_.

Yes. Finally, it feels like his days are filled with more good than bad. He’s sleeping better, most nights anyway, and, since he’d started seeing Linda again, the flashbacks have become more scarce. It’d been difficult at first, possibly one of the most difficult things he’s ever had to do, talking about his time in Hell, but it _helped_.

And it continues to help. Driving away those feelings of hopeless inevitability that have plagued him. Chipping away at the fear and the darkness that resides within him. He knows that he can never rid himself of it completely, that he can’t just vanish eons of trauma and the damage that it has caused with a few stress toys and some therapy, but it’s helping.

He doesn’t feel like he’s drowning most of the time now.

Despite everything he’s— _they_ have been through, he doesn’t think for one second that he would change any of it, given the chance. Not if it meant risking what he’s gained. Risking this.

His beautiful fiancé. His friends. Even the Spawn.

Life… life is _good._

He truly wouldn’t have it any other way.

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with me through this story, it's one that I enjoyed writing a lot although it was quite a challenge to tackle such a heavy topic. I really do appreciate you all so much for all your kind words and kudos throughout. Until next time! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Follow me on Twitter if you fancy having a chat about Lucifer, Deckerstar or anything really [@kaykat666](https://twitter.com/kaykat666) and Tumblr @kaykat-loves-luci


End file.
